isms 


This  boo..  /H  on 


«  -d 


STATE  NORMAL  St" 

Los  Angeles  Cai. 


TALES  OF  THE  AEGONAUTS, 


OTHER   SKETCHES. 


BT 


BRET    HARTE. 


BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 
Ktoersi&e  pws 
1882. 


COPYRIGHT,  1875, 
BY     JAMES     R.     OSGOOD     <t     CO. 

[Ml  Rights  Reserved.] 


CONTENTS. 

J 


THE  ROSE  OF  TUOLUMNE 1 

A  PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OF   MR.    JOHN   OAK- 
HURST        41 

WAX  LEE,  THE  PAGAN 79 

How  OLD  MAN  PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME    .        .       105 

THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS 134 

BABY  SYLVESTER 173 

AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN          ....  199 
A  JERSEY  CENTENARIAN  274 


THE  ROSE  OF  TUOLUMNE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

TT  was   nearly  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

•  The  lights  were  out  in  Robinson's  Hall, 
where  there  had  been  dancing  and  revelry ;  and 
the  moon,  riding  high,  painted  the  black  win 
dows  with  silver.  The  cavalcade,  that  an  hour 
ago  had  shocked  the  sedate  pines  with  song  and 
laughter,  were  all  dispersed.  One  enamoured 
swain  had  ridden  east,  another  west,  another 
north,  another  south ;  and  the  object  of  their 
adoration,  left  within  her  bower  at  Chemisal 
Ridge,  was  calmly  going  to  bed. 

I  regret  that  I  am  not  able  to  indicate  the 
exact  stage  of  that  process.  Two  chairs  were 
already  rilled  with  delicate  inwrappings  and 
white  confusion;  and  the  young  lady  herself, 
half-hidden  in  the  silky  threads  of  her  yellow 
hair,  had  at  one  time  borne  a  faint  resemblance 
to  a  partly-husked  ear  of  Indian  corn.  But  she 
was  now  clothed  in  that  one  long,  formless  gar 
ment  that  makes  all  women  equal;  and  the 
round  shoulders  and  neat  waist,  that  an  hour 


2  THE  KOSE   OF   TUOLUMNE. 

ago  had  been  so  fatal  to  the  peace  of  mind  of 
Four  Forks,  had  utterly  disappeared.  The  face 
above  it  was  very  pretty :  the  foot  below,  albeit 
shapely,  was  not  small.  "  The  flowers,  as  a 
general  thing,  don't  raise  their  heads  much  t-j 
look  after  me,"  she  had  said  with  superb  frank 
ness  to  one  of  her  lovers. 

The  expression  of  the  "  Rose  "  to-night  was 
contentedly  placid.  She  walked  slowly  to  the 
window,  and,  making  the  smallest  possible  peep 
hole  through  the  curtain,  looked  out.  The 
motionless  figure  of  a  horseman  still  lingered  on 
the  road,  with  an  excess  of  devotion  that  only  a 
coquette,  or  a  woman  very  much  in  love,  could 
tolerate.  The  "  Rose,"  at  that  moment,  was 
neither,  and,  after  a  reasonable  pause,  turned 
away,  saying  quite  audibly  that  it  was  "  too 
ridiculous  for  any  thing."  As  she  came  back  to 
her  dressing-table,  it  was  noticeable  that  she 
walked  steadily  and  erect,  without  that  slight 
affectation  of  lameness  common  to  people  with 
whom  bare  feet  are  only  an  episode.  Indeed,  it 
was  only  four  years  ago,  that  without  shoes  or 
Stockings,  a  long-limbed,  colty  girl,  in  a  waist- 
loss  calico  gown,  she  had  leaped  from  the  tail 
board  of  her  father's  emigrant-wagon  when  it 
first  drew  up  at  Chemisal  Ridge.  Certain  wild 
habits  of  the  "  Rose  "  had  outlived  transplant- 
nig  and  cultivation. 


THE  BOSE   OF  TUOLUMNE.  3 

A  knock  at  the  door  surprised  her.  In 
another  moment  she  had  leaped  into  bed,  and 
with  darkly-frowning  eyes,  from  its  secure 
recesses  demanded  "  Who's  there  ?  " 

An  apologetic  murmur  on  the  other  side  of 
the  door  was  the  response. 

<k  Why,  father !  —  is  that  you  ?  " 

There  were  further  murmurs,  affirmative, 
deprecatory,  and  persistent. 

"  Wait,"  said  the  "  Rose."  She  got  up,  un 
locked  the  door,  leaped  nimbly  into  bed  again, 
and  said,  "  Come." 

The  door  opened  timidly.  The  broad,  stoop 
ing  shoulders,  and  grizzled  head,  of  a  man  past 
the  middle  age,  appeared:  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  a  pair  of  large,  diffident  feet,  shod 
with  canvas  slippers,  concluded  to  follow.  When 
the  apparition  was  complete,  it  closed  the  door 
softly,  and  stood  there,  —  a  very  shy  ghost  in 
deed, —  with  apparently  more  than  the  usual 
spiritual  indisposition  to  begin  a  conversation. 
The  "  Rose  "  resented  this  impatiently,  though, 
I  fear,  not  altogether  intelligibly. 

"  Do,  father,  I  declare  !  " 

"  You  was  abed,  Jinny,"  said  Mr.  McClosky 
slowly,  glancing,  with  a  singular  mixture  of 
masculine  awe  and  paternal  pride,  upon  the  two 
chairs  and  their  contents,  —  "  you  was  abed  and 
ondressed." 


4  THE  KOSE   OF  TUOLTJMNE. 

"  I  was." 

"  Surely,"  said  Mr.  McClosky,  seating  himself 
on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  bed,  and  \  ainfully 
tucking  his  feet  away  under  it,  —  "surely." 
After  a  pause,  he  rubbed  a  short,  thick,  stumpy 
beard,  that  bore  a  general  resemblance  to  a 
badty-worn  blacking-brush,  with  the  palm  of 
his  hand,  and  went  on,  "  You  had  a  good  time, 
Jinny  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  They  was  all  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ranee  and  York  and  Ryder  and 
Jack." 

"  And  Jack  !  "  Mr.  McClosky  endeavored  to 
throw  an  expression  of  arch  inquiry  into  his 
small,  tremulous  eyes ;  but  meeting  the  un 
abashed,  widely-opened  lid  of  his  daughter,  he 
winked  rapidly,  and  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair. 

"  Yes,  Jack  was  there,"  said  Jenny,  without 
change  of  color,  or  the  least  self-consciousness 
in  her  great  gray  eyes ;  "  and  he  came  home 
with  me."  She  paused  a  moment,  locking  her 
two  hands  under  her  head,  and  assuming  a  more 
comfortable  position  on  the  pillow.  "  He  asked 
me  that  same  question  again,  father,  and  I  said, 
'  Yes.'  It's  to  be  —  soon.  We're  going  to  live 
at  Four  Forks,  in  his  own  house  ;  and  next 
winter  we're  going  to  Sacramento.  I  suppose 


THE  ROSE   OF   TUOLTJMNE.  5 

it's  all  right,  father,  eh  ?  "  She  emphasized  the 
question  with  a  slight  lack  through  the  bed 
clothes,  as  the  parental  McClosky  had  fallen 
into  an  abstract  revery. 

"  Yes,  surely,"  said  Mr.  McClosky,  recovering 
himself  with  some  confusion.  After  a  pause, 
he  looked  down  at  the  bed-clothes,  and,  patting 
them  tenderly,  continued,  "  You  couldn't  have 
done  better,  Jinny.  They  isn't  a  girl  in  Tuo- 
lurnne  ez  could  strike  it  ez  rich  as  you  hev  — 
even  if  they  got  the  chance."  He  paused 
again,  and  then  said,  "  Jinny  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  You'se  in  bed,  and  ondressed  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  couldn't,"  said  Mr.  McClosky,  glancing 
hopelessly  at  the  two  chairs,  and  slowly  rubbing 
his  chin,  —  "  you  couldn't  dress  yourself  again 
co  aid  yer?" 

"Why,  father!" 

"  Kinder  get  yourself  into  them  things 
again?"  he  added  hastily.  "Not  all  of  'em, 
you  know,  but  some  of  'em.  Not  if  I  helped 
you'  —  sorter  stood  by,  and  lent  a  hand  now 
and  then  with  a  strap,  or  a  buckle,  or  a  necktie, 
or  a  shoestring  ?  "  he  continued,  still  looking  at 
the  chairs,  and  evidently  trying  to  boldly  famil 
iarize  himself  with  their  contents. 

"  Are  you  crazy,  father  ?  "  demanded  Jenny, 


6  THE  KOSE  OF  TUOLUMNE. 

suddenly  sitting  up  with  a  portentous  switch 
of  her  yellow  mane.  Mr.  McClosky  rubbed 
one  side  of  his  beard,  which  already  had  the 
appearance  of  having  been  quite  worn  away  by 
that  process,  and  faintly  dodged  the  question. 

"  Jinny,"  he  Said,  tenderly  stroking  the  bed 
clothes  as  he  spoke,  "  this  yer's  what's  the 
matter.  Thar  is  a  stranger  down  stairs,  —  a 
stranger  to  you,  lovey,  but  a  man  ez  I've 
knowed  a  long  time.  He's  been  here  about  an 
hour;  and  he'll  be  here  ontil  fower  o'clock, 
when  the  up-stage  passes.  Now  I  wants  3^6, 
Jinny  dear,  to  get  up  and  come  down  stairs,  and 
kinder  help  me  pass  the  time  with  him.  It's 
no  use,  Jinny,"  he  went  on,  gently  raising  his 
hand  to  deprecate  any  interruption,  "  it's  no 
use !  He  won't  go  to  bed ;  he  won't  play 
keerds ;  whiskey  don't  take  no  effect  on  him. 
Ever  since  I  knowed  him,  he  was  the  most  on- 
satisfactory  critter  to  hev  round  "  — 

"  What  do  you  have  him  round  for,  then  ?  " 
interrupted  Miss  Jinny  sharply. 

Mr.  McClosky's  eyes  fell.  "  Ef  he  hedn't  kem 
out  of  his  way  to-night  to  do  me  a  good  turn,  I 
wouldn't  ask  ye,  Jinny.  I  wouldn't,  so  help  me  ! 
But  I  thought,  ez  I  couldn't  do  any  thing  with 
him,  you  might  come  down,  and  sorter  fetch 
him,  Jinny,  as  you  did  the  others." 

Miss  Jenny  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders. 


THE  EOSE   OF  TUOLTJMNE.  < 

"  Is  he  old,  or  young  ?  " 

"  He's  young  enough,  Jinny ;  but  he  knows  a 
power  of  things." 

"  What  does  he  do  ?  " 

"Not  much,  I  reckon.  He's  got  money  in  the 
mill  at  Four  Forks.  He  travels  round  a  good 
deal.  I've  heard,  Jinny  that  he's  a  poet  — 
writes  them  rhymes,  you  know."  Mr.  Mc- 
Closky  here  appealed  submissively  but  directly 
to  his  daughter.  He  remembered  that  she  had 
frequently  been  in  receipt  of  printed  elegaic 
couplets  known  as  "mottoes,"  containing  enclos 
ures  equally  saccharine. 

Miss  Jenny  slightly  curled  her  pretty  lip 
She  had  that  fine  contempt  for  the  illusions  of 
fancy  which  belongs  to  the  perfectly  healthy 
young  animal. 

"  Not,"  continued  Mr.  McClosky,  rubbing  his 
head  reflectively,  "  not  ez  I'd  advise  ye,  Jinny, 
to  say  any  thing  to  him  about  poetry.  It  ain't 
twenty  minutes  ago  .  ez  /  did.  I  set  the 
whiskey  afore  him  in  the  parlor.  I  wound  up 
the  music-box,  and  set  it  goin'.  Then  I  sez  to 
him,  sociable-like  and  free,  '  Jest  consider  your 
self  in  your  own  house,  and  repeat  what  you 
allow  to  be  your  finest  production,'  and  he 
raged.  That  man,  Jinny,  jest  raged!  Thar's 
no  end  of  the  names  he  called  me.  You  see, 
Jinny,"  continued  Mr.  McClosky  apologetically, 
"  he's  known  me  a  long  tune." 


8  THE  ROSE  OF  TUOLTJMNE. 

But  his  daughter  had  already  dismissed  the 
question  with  her  usual  directness.  "I'll  be 
down  in  a  few  moments,  father,"  she  said  after 
a  pause,  "  but  don't  say  any  thing  to  him  about 
it  —  don't  say  I  was  abed." 

Mr.  McClosky's  face  beamed.  "  You  was 
allers  a  good  girl,  Jinny,"  he  said,  dropping  on 
one  knee  the  better  to  imprint  a  respectful  kiss 
on  her  forehead.  But  Jenny  caught  him  by 
the  wrists,  and  for  a  moment  held  him  captive. 
"  Father,"  said  she,  trying  to  fix  his  shy  eyes 
with  the  clear,  steady  glance  of  her  own,  "  all 
the  girls  that  were  there  to-night  had  some  one 
with  them.  Mame  Robinson  had  her  aunt ; 
Lucy  Ranee  had  her  mother  ;  Kate  Pierson  had 
her  sister  —  all,  except  me,  had  some  other 
woman.  Father  dear,"  her  lip  trembled  just  a 
little,  "  I  wish  mother  hadn't  died  when  I  was 
so  small.  I  wish  there  was  some  other  woman 
in  the  family  besides  me.  I  ain't  lonely  with 
you,  father  dear ;  but  if  there  was  only  some 
one,  you  know,  when  the  time  comes  for  John 
and  me  "  — 

Her  voice  here  suddenly  gave  out,  but  not 
her  brave  eyes,  that  were  still  fixed  earnestly 
upon  his  face.  Mr.  McClosky,  apparently 
tracing  out  a  pattern  on  the  bedquilt,  essayed 
words  of  comfort. 

"Thar  ain't  one    of   them   gals   ez    youve 


THE  ROSE   OF  TUOLUMNE.  9 

named,  Jinny,  ez  could  do  what  you've  done 
with  a  whole  Noah's  ark  of  relations  at  their 
backs !  Thar  ain't  one  ez  wouldn't  sacrifice 
her  nearest  relation  to  make  the  strike  that 
you  hev.  Ez  to  mothers,  maybe,  my  dear 
you're  doin'  better  without  one."  He  rose 
suddenly,  and  walked  toward  the  door.  When 
he  reached  it,  he  turned,  and,  in  his  old  depre 
cating  manner,  said,  "  Don't  be  long,  Jinny," 
smiled,  and  vanished  from  the  head  downward, 
his  canvas  slippers  asserting  themselves  reso 
lutely  to  the  last. 

When  Mr.  McClosky  reached  his  parlor 
again,  his  troublesome  guest  was  not  there. 
The  decanter  stood  on  the  table  untouched; 
three  or  four  books  lay  upon  the  floor;  a 
number  of  photographic  views  of  the  Sierras 
were  scattered  over  the  sofa ;  two  sofa-pillows, 
a  newspaper,  and  a  Mexican  blanket,  lay  on  the 
carpet,  as  if  the  late  occupant  of  the  room  had 
tried  to  read  in  a  recumbent  position.  A 
French  window  opening  upon  a  veranda,  which 
never  before  in  the  history  of  the  house  had 
been  unfastened,  now  betrayed  by  its  waving 
lace  curtain  the  way  that  the  fugitive  had 
escaped.  Mr.  McClosky  heaved  a  sigh  of 
despair.  He  looked  at  the  gorgeous  carpet 
purchased  in  Sacramento  at  a  fabulous  price,  at 
the  crimson  satin  and  rosewood  furniture  un 


10  THE  KOSE  OF   TUOLTOOTE. 

paralleled  in  the  history  of  Tuolumne,  at  the 
massively-framed  pictures  on  the  walls,  and 
looked  beyond  it,  through  the  open  window,  to 
the  reckless  man,  who,  fleeing  these  sybaritic 
allurements,  was  smoking  a  cigar  upon  the 
moonlit  road.  This  room,  which  had  so  often 
awed  the  youth  of  Tuolumne  into  filial  respect, 
was  evidently  a  failure.  It  remained  to  be  seen 
if  the  "  Rose  "  herself  had  lost  her  fragrance. 
"  I  reckon  Jinny  will  fetch  him  yet,"  said  Mr. 
McClosky  with  parental  faith. 

He  stepped  from  the  window  upon  the 
veranda  ;  but  he  had  scarcely  done  this,  before 
his  figure  was  detected  by  the  stranger,  who  at 
once  crossed  the  road.  When  within  a  few 
feet  of  McClosky,  he  stopped.  "  You  persistent 
old  plantigrade  !  "  he  said  in  alow  voice,  audible 
only  to  the  person  addressed,  and  a  face  full  of 
affected  anxiety,  "  why  don't  you  go  to  bed  ? 
Didn't  I  tell  you  to  go  and  leave  me  here 
alone  ?  In  the  name  of  all  that's  idiotic  and 
imbecile,  why  do  you  contiuue  to  shuffle  about 
here  ?  Or  are  you  trying  to  drive  me  crazy 
with  your  presence,  as  you  have  with  that 
wretched  music-box  that  I've  just  dropped 
under  yonder  tree  ?  It's  an  hour  and  a  half  yet 
before  the  stage  passes :  do  you  think,  do  you 
imagine  for  a  single  moment,  that  I  can  tolerate 
you  until  then,  eh  ?  Why  don't  you  speak  ? 


THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLUMNE.  11 

Are  you  asleep  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  that 
you  have  the  audacity  to  add  somnambulism  to 
your  other  weaknesses  ?  you're  not  low  enough 
to  repeat  yourself  under  any  such  weak  pretext 
as  that,  eh  ?  " 

A  fit  of  nervous  coughing  ended  this  extraor 
dinary  exordium ;  and  half  sitting,  half  leaning 
against  the  veranda,  Mr.  McClosky's  guest 
turned  his  face,  and  part  of  a  slight  elegant 
figure,  toward  his  host.  The  lower  portion  of 
this  upturned  face  wore  an  habitual  expression 
of  fastidious  discontent,  with  an  occasional  line 
of  physical  suffering.  But  the  brow  above  was 
frank  and  critical ;  and  a  pair  of  dark,  mirthful 
eyes,  sat  in  playful  judgment  over  the  super- 
sensitive  mouth  and  its  suggestion. 

"  I  allowed  to  go  to  bed,  Ridgeway,"  said  Mr. 
McClosky  meekly;  "but  my  girl  Jinny's  jist 
got  back  from  a  little  tear  up  at  Robinson's,  and 
ain't  inclined  to  turn  in  yet.  You  know  what 
girls  is.  So  I  thought  we  three  would  jist  have 
a  social  chat  together  to  pass  away  the  time." 

"You  mendacious  old  hypocrite!  She  got 
back  an  hour  ago,"  said  Ridgeway,  "  as  that  sav 
age-looking  escort  of  hers,  who  has  been  haunt 
ing  the  house  ever  since,  can  testify.  My  belief 
is,  that,  like  an  enterprising  idiot  as  you  are, 
you've  dragged  that  girl  out  of  her  bed,  that  we 
might  mutually  bore  each  other." 


12  THE  KOSE  OF  TTJOLUMNE. 

Mr.  McClosky  was  too  much  stunned  by  this 
evidence  of  Ridgeway's  apparently  superhuman 
penetration  to  reply.  After  enjoying  his  host's 
confusion  for  a  moment  with  his  eyes,  Ridge- 
way's  mouth  asked  grimly,  — 

"  And  who  is  this  girl,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Nancy's." 

"  Your  wife's  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  look  yar,  Ridgeway,"  said 
McClosky,  laying  one  hand  imploringly  on 
Ridgeway's  sleeve,  "  not  a  word  about  her  to 
Jinny.  She  thinks  her  mother's  dead — died  in 
Missouri.  Eh ! " 

Ridgeway  nearly  rolled  from  the  veranda  in 
an  excess  of  rage.  "  Good  God  !  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  have  been  concealing 
from  her  a  fact  that  any  day,  any  moment,  may 
come  to  her  ears?  That  you've  been  letting 
her  grow  up  in  ignorance  of  something  that  by 
this  tune  she  might  have  outgrown  and  for 
gotten?  That  you  have  been,  like  a  besotted 
old  ass,  all  these  years  slowly  forging  a  thunder 
bolt  that  any  one  may  crush  her  with  ?  That  " 
—  but  here  Ridgeway's  cough  took  possession 
of  his  voice,  and  even  put  a  moisture  into  his 
dark  eyes,  as  he  looked  at  McClosky's  aimless 
hand  feebly  employed  upon  his  beard. 

"  But,"  said  McClosky,  "  look  how  she's 
done  I  She's  held  her  head  as  high  as  any  of 


THE  ROSE   OF  TUOLUMNE.  13 

'em.  She's  to  be  married  in  a  month  to  the 
richest  man  in  the  county;  and,"  he  added 
cunningly,  "  Jack  Ashe  ain't  the  kind  o'  man  to 
sit  by  and  hear  any  thing  said  of  his  wife  or 
her  relations,  you  bet !  But  hush  —  that's  her 
foot  on  the  stairs.  She's  cummin'." 

She  came.  I  don't  think  the  French  window 
ever  held  a  finer  view  than  when  she  put  aside 
the  curtains,  and  stepped  out.  She  had  dressed 
herself  simply  and  hurriedly,  but  with  a 
woman's  knowledge  of  her  best  points ;  so  that 
you  got  the  long  curves  of  her  shapely  limbs, 
the  shorter  curves  of  her  round  waist  and 
shoulders,  the  long  sweep  of  her  yellow  braids, 
the  light  of  her  gray  eyes,  and  even  the  deli 
cate  rose  of  her  complexion,  without  knowing 
how  it  was  delivered  to  you. 

The  introduction  by  Mr.  McClosky  was  brief. 
When  Ridgeway  had  got  over  the  fact  that  it 
was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  that  the 
cheek  of  this  Tuolumne  goddess  nearest  him 
was  as  dewy  and  fresh  as  an  infant's,  that  she 
looked  like  Marguerite,  without,  probably,  ever 
having  heard  of  Gosthe's  heroine,  he  talked,  I 
dare  say,  very  sensibly.  When  Miss  Jenny — 
who  from  her  childhood  had  been  brought  up 
among  the  sons  of  Anak,  and  who  was  accus 
tomed  to  have  the  supremacy  of  our  noble  sex 
presented  to  her  as  a  physical  fact — found  her 


14  THE  HOSE  OF   TUOLTTMNE. 

self  in  the  presence  of  a  new  and  strange 
power  in  the  slight  and  elegant  figure  beside 
her,  she  was  at  first  frightened  and  cold.  But 
finding  that  this  power,  against  which  the 
weapons  of  her  own  physical  charms  were  of 
no  avail,  was  a  kindly  one,  albeit  general,  sh.o 
fell  to  worshipping  it,  after  the  fashion  of 
woman,  and  casting  before  it  the  fetishes  and 
other  idols  of  her  youth.  She  even  confessed 
to  it.  So  that,  in  half  an  hour,  Ridgeway  was 
in  possession  of  all  the  facts  connected  with 
her  life,  and  a  great  many,  I  fear,  of  her  fancies 
—  except  one.  When  Mr.  McClosky  found  the 
young  people  thus  amicably  disposed,  he  calmly 
went  to  sleep. 

It  was  a  pleasant  time  to  each.  To  Miss 
Jenny  it  had  the  charm  of  novelty;  and  she 
abandoned  herself  to  it,  for  that  reason,  much 
more  freely  and  innocently  than  her  companion, 
who  knew  something  more  of  the  inevitable  logic 
of  the  position.  I  do  not  think,  however,  he  had 
any  intention  of  love-making.  I  do  not  think 
he  was  at  all  conscious  of  being  in  the  attitude. 
I  am  quite  positive  he  would  have  shrunk  from 
the  suggestion  of  disloyalty  to  the  one  woman 
whom  he  admitted  to  himself  he  loved.  But, 
like  most  poets,  he  was  much  more  true  to  an 
idea  than  a  fact,  and  having  a  very  lofty  concep 
tion  of  womanhood,  with  a  very  sanguine  nature. 


THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLUMNE.  15 

he  saw  in  each  new  face  the  possibilities  of  a 
realization  of  his  ideal.  It  was,  perhaps,  an 
unfortunate  thing  for  the  women,  particularly  as 
he  brought  to  each  trial  a  surprising  freshness, 
which  was  very  deceptive,  and  quite  distinct 
from  the  Ua§6  familiarity  of  the  man  of  gallantry. 
It  was  this  perennial  virginity  of  the  affections 
that  most  endeared  him  to  the  best  women, 
who  were  prone  to  exercise  toward  him  a  chiv 
alrous  protection, — as  of  one  likely  to  go  astray, 
unless  looked  after,  —  and  indulged  in  the  dan 
gerous  combination  of  sentiment  with  the 
highest  maternal  instincts.  It  was  this  quality 
which  caused  Jenny  to  recognize  in  him  a 
certain  boyishness  that  required  her  womanly 
care,  and  even  induced  her  to  offer  to  accom 
pany  him  to  the  cross-roads  when  the  time  for 
his  departure  arrived.  With  her  superior 
knowledge  of  woodcraft  and  the  locality,  she 
would  have  kept  him  from  being  lost.  I  wot 
not  but  that  she  would  have  protected  him  from 
bears  or  wolves,  but  chiefly,  I  think,  from  the 
feline  fascinations  of  Mame  Robinson  and  Lucy 
Ranee,  who  might  be  lying  in  wait  for  thib 
tender  young  poet.  Nor  did  she  cease  to  be 
thankful  that  Providence  had,  so  to  speak, 
delivered  him  as  a  trust  into  her  hands. 

It  was  a  lovely  night.     The  moon  swung  low, 
and    languished    softly    on    the    snowy  ridge 


16  THE   KOSE   OF   TUOLUMNE. 

beyond.  There  were  quaint  odors  in  the  still 
air ;  and  a  strange  incense  from  the  woods  per 
fumed  their  young  blood,  and  seemed  to  swoon 
in  their  pulses.  Small  wonder  that  they  lin 
gered  on  the  white  road,  that  their  feet  climbed, 
unwillingly  the  little  hill  where  they  were  to 
part,  and  that,  when  they  at  last  reached,  it, 
even  the  saving  grace  of  speech  seemed  to  have 
forsaken  them. 

For  there  they  stood  alone.  There  was  no 
sound  nor  motion  in  earth,  or  woods,  or  heaven. 
They  might  have  been  the  one  man  and  woman 
for  whom  this  goodly  earth  that  lay  at  their 
feet,  rimmed  with  the  deepest  azure,  was 
created.  And,  seeing  this,  they  turned  toward 
each  other  with  a  sudden  instinct,  and  their 
hands  met,  and  then  their  lips  in  one  long  kiss. 

And  then  out  of  the  mysterious  distance 
came  the  sound  of  voices,  and  the  sharp  clatter 
of  hoofs  and  wheels,  and  Jenny  slid  away  —  a 
white  moonbeam  —  from  the  hill.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  glimmered  through  the  trees,  and 
then,  reaching  the  house,  passed  her  sleeping 
father  on  the  veranda,  and,  darting  into  her 
bedroom,  locked  the  door,  threw  open  the 
window,  and,  falling  on  her  knees  beside  it, 
Jeaned  her  hot  cheeks  upon  her  hands,  and 
listened.  In  a  few  moments  she  was  rewarded 
by  the  sharp  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  stony  road ; 


THE  BOSE  OF   TUOLTTMNE.  17 

but  it  was  only  a  horseman,  whose  dark  figure 
was  swiftly  lost  in  the  shadows  of  the  lower 
road.  At  another  time  she  might  have  recog 
nized  the  man ;  but  her  eyes  and  ears  were  now 
all  intent  on  something  else.  It  came  presently 
with  dancing  lights,  a  musical  rattle  of  harness, 
a  cadence  of  hoof-beats,  that  set  her  heart  to 
beating  in  unison — and  was  gone.  A  sudden 
sense  of  loneliness  came  over  her;  and  tears 
gathered  in  her  sweet  eyes. 

She  arose,  and  looked  around  her.  There  was 
the  little  bed,  the  dressing-table,  the  roses  that 
she  had  worn  last  night,  still  fresh  and  bloom 
ing  in  the  little  vase.  Every  thing  was  there ; 
but  every  thing  looked  strange.  The  roses  should 
have  been  withered,  for  the  party  seemed  so 
long  ago.  She  could  hardly  remember  when  she 
had  worn  this  dress  that  lay  upon  the  chair. 
So  she  came  back  to  the  window,  and  sank  down 
beside -it,  with  her  cheek  a  trifle  paler,  leaning 
on  her  hand,  and  her  long  braids  reaching  to 
the  floor.  The  stars  paled  slowly,  like  her 
cheek;  yet  with  eyes  that  saw  not,  she  still 
looked  from  her  window  for  the  coming  dawn. 

It  came,  with  violet  deepening  into  purple, 
with  purple  flushing  into  rose,  with  rose  shining 
into  silver,  and  glowing  into  gold.  The  strag; 
gling  line  of  black  picket-fence  below,  that  had 
faded  away  with  the  stars,  came  back  with  the 


18  THE    ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE. 

sun.  What  was  that  object  moving  by  the 
fence?  Jenny  raised  her  head,  and  looked 
intently.  It  was  a  man  endeavoring  to  climb 
the  pickets,  and  falling  backward  with  each 
attempt.  Suddenly  she  started  to  her  feet,  as 
if  the  rosy  flushes  of  the  dawn  had  crimsoned 
her  from  forehead  to  shoulders ;  then  she  stood, 
white  as  the  wall,  with  her  hands  clasped  upon 
her  bosom ;  then,  with  a  single  bound,  she 
reached  the  door,  and,  with  flying  braids  and 
fluttering  skirt,  sprang  down  the  stairs,  and  out 
to  the  garden  walk.  When  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  fence,  she  uttered  a  cry,  the  first  she  had 
given,  —  the  cry  of  a  mother  over  her  stricken 
babe,  of  a  tigress  over  her  mangled  cub ;  and  in 
another  moment  she  had  leaped  the  fence,  and 
khelt  beside  Ridgeway,  with  his  fainting  head 
upon  her  breast. 

"  My  boy,  my  poor,  poor  boy !  who  has  done 
this?" 

Who,  indeed?  His  clothes  were  covered 
with  dust ;  his  waistcoat  was  torn  open ;  and 
his  handkerchief,  wet  with  the  blood  it  could 
not  stanch,  fell  from  a  cruel  stab  beneath  hia 
shoulder. 

"  Ridgeway,  my  poor  boy !  tell  me  what  has 
happened." 

Ridgeway  slowly  opened  his  heavy  blue- 
veined  lids,  and  gazed  upon  her.  Presently  a 


THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLUMNE.  21 

details  of  the  affray  that  might  offer  a  clew  to 
his  unknown  assailant,  a  subtle  twinkle  in  his 
brown  eyes  was  the  only  response.  When  Mr. 
McClosky  attempted  the  same  process,  the 
young  gentleman  threw  abusive  epithets,  and. 
eventually  slippers,  teaspoons,  and  other  lightei 
articles  within  the  reach  of  an  invalid,  at  the 
head  of  his  questioner.  "  I  think  he's  coming 
round,  Jinny,"  said  Mr.  McClosky :  "he  laid 
for  me  this  morning  with  a  candlestick." 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Miss  Jenny, 
having  sworn  her  father  to  secrecy  regarding 
the  manner  in  which  Ridgeway  had  been 
carried  into  the  house,  conceived  the  idea  of 
addressing  the  young  man  as  "  Mr.  Dent,"  and 
of  apologizing  for  intruding  whenever  she 
entered  the  room  in  the  discharge  of  her  house 
hold  duties.  It  was  about  this  time  that  she 
became  more  rigidly  conscientious  to  those 
duties,  and  less  general  in  her  attentions.  It 
was  at  this  time  that  the  quality  of  the  invalid's 
diet  improved,  and  that  she  consulted  him  less 
frequently  about  it.  It  was  about  this  time 
that  she  began  to  see  more  company,  that  the 
house  was  greatly  frequented  by  her  former 
admirers,  with  whom  she  rode,  walked,  and 
danced.  It  was  at  about  this  time  also,  and 
when  Ridgeway  was  able  to  be  brought  out  on 
the  veranda  in  a  chair,  that,  with  great  archness 


22  THE  KOSE  OF   TUOLTTMNE. 

of  manner,  she  introduced  to  him  Miss  Lucy 
Ashe,  the  sister  of  her  betrothed,  a  flashing 
brunette,  and  -  terrible  heart-breaker  of  Four 
Forks.  And,  in  the  midst  of  this  gayety,  she 
concluded  that  she  would  spend  a  week  with 
the  Robinsons,  to  whom  she  owed  a  visit.  She 
enjoyed  herself  greatly  there,  so  much,  indeed, 
that  she  became  quite  hollow-eyed,  the  result, 
as  she  explained  to  her  father,  of  a  too  frequent 
indulgence  in  festivity.  "  You  see,  father,  I 
won't  have  many  chances  after  John  and  I  are 
married :  you  know  how  queer  he  is,  and  I  must 
make  the  most  of  my  time ;  "  and  she  laughed 
an  odd  little  laugh,  which  had  lately  become 
habitual  to  her.  "And  how  is  Mr.  Dent 
getting  on  ?  "  Her  father  replied  that  he  was 
getting  on  very  well  indeed,  —  so  well,  in  fact, 
that  he  was  able  to  leave  for  San  Francisco  two 
'days  ago.  "  He  wanted  to  be  remembered  to 
you,  Jinny,  — '  remembered  kindly,'  —  yes,  they 
is  the  very  words  he  used,"  said  Mr.  McClosky, 
looking  down,  and  consulting  one  of  his  large 
shoes  for  corroboration.  Miss  Jenny  was  glad 
to  hear  that  he  was  so  much  better.  Miss 
Jenny  could  not  imagine  any  thing  that  pleased 
her  more  than  to  know  that  he  Avas  so  strong  as 
to  be  able  to  rejoin  his  friends  again,  who  must 
love  him  so  much,  and  be  so  anxious  about  him. 
Har  father  thought  she  would  be  pleased,  and, 


THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLUMNE.  23 

now  that  he  was  gone,  there  was  really  no  neces 
sity  for  her  to  hurry  back.  Miss  Jenny,  in  a 
high  metallic  voice,  did  not  know  that  she  had 
expressed  any  desire  to  stay,  still  if  her  pres 
ence  had  become  distasteful  at  home,  if  her 
own  father  was  desirous  of  getting  rid  of  her, 
if,  when  she  was  so  soon  to  leave  his  roof  for 
ever,  he  still  begrudged  her  those  few  days  re 
maining,  if —  "  My  God,  Jinny,  so  help  me  !  " 
said  Mr.  McClosky,  clutching  despairingly  at 
his  beard,  "  I  didn't  go  for  to  say  any  thing  of 
the  land.  I  thought  that  you  "  —  "  Never 
mind,  father,"  interrupted  Jenny  magnani 
mously,  "  you  misunderstood  me :  of  course 
you  did,  you  couldn't  help  it  —  you're  a  MAN  !  " 
Mr.  McClosky,  sorely  crushed,  would  have 
vaguely  protested ;  but  his  daughter,  having 
relieved  herself,  after  the  manner  of  her  sex, 
with  a  mental  personal  application  of  an 
abstract  statement,  forgave  him  with  a  kiss. 

Nevertheless,  for  two  or  three  days  after  her 
return,  Mr.  McClosky  followed  his  daughter 
about  the  house  with  yearning  eyes,  and  occa 
sionally  with  timid,  diffident  feet.  Sometimes 
he  came  upon  her  suddenly  at  her  household 
tar-ks,  with  an  excuse  so  palpably  false,  and  a 
careless  manner  so  outrageously  studied^  that 
she  was  fain  to  be  embarrassed  for  him.  Later, 
he  took  to  rambling  about  the  house  at  night, 


24  THE  ROSE  OF  TUOLUMNE. 

and  was  often  seen  noiselessly  passing  and 
repassing  through  the  hall  after  shj  had  retired. 
On  one  occasion,  he  was  surprised,  first  by  sleep, 
and  then  by  the  early-rising  Jenny,  as  he  lay  on 
the  rug  outside  her  chamber-door.  "  You 
treat  me  like  a  child,  father,"  said  Jenny.  "  1 
thought,  Jinny,"  said  the  father  apologetically, 
— "  I  thought  I  heard  sounds  as  if  you.  was  takin' 
on  inside,  and,  listenin'  I  fell  asleep."  —  "  You 
dear,  old  simple-minded  baby !  "  said  Jenny,  look 
ing  past  her  father's  eyes,  and  lifting  his  griz 
zled  locks  one  by  one  with  meditative  fingers : 
"what  should  I  be  takin'  on  for?  Look  how 
much  taller  I  am  than  you  !  "  she  said,  suddenly 
lifting  herself  up  to  the  extreme  of  her  superb 
figure.  Then  rubbing  his  head  rapidly  with 
both  hands,  as  if  she  were  anointing  his  hair 
with  some  rare  unguent,  she  patted  him  on  the 
back,  and  returned  to  her  room.  The  result  of 
this  and  one  or  two  other  equally  sympathetic 
interviews  was  to  produce  a  change  in  Mr. 
McClosky's  manner,  which  was,  if  possible, 
still  more  discomposing.  He  grew  unjustifiably 
hilarious,  cracked  jokes  with  the  servants,  and 
repeated  to  Jenny  humorous  stories,  with  the 
attitude  of  facetiousness  carefully  preserved 
throughout  the  entire  narration,  and  the  point 
utterly  ignored  and  forgotten.  Certain  inci 
dents  reminded  him  of  funny  things,  which 


THE  KOSE  OF   TUOLUMNB.  25 

invariably  turned  out  to  have  not  the  slight 
est  relevancy  or  application.  He  occasionally 
brought  home  with  him  practical  humorists, 
with  a  sanguine  hope  of  setting  them  going, 
like  the  music-box,  for  his  daughter's  edifica 
tion.  He  essayed  the  singing  of  melodies  with 
great  freedom  of  style,  and  singular  limitation 
of  note.  He  sang  "  Come  haste  to  the  Wed 
ding,  Ye  Lasses  and  Maidens,"  of  which  he 
knew  a  single  line,  and  that  incorrectly,  as 
being  peculiarly  apt  and  appropriate.  Yet 
away  from  the  house  and  his  daughter's  pres 
ence,  he  was  silent  and  distraught.  His  absence 
of  mind  was  particularly  noted  by  his  workmen 
at  the  Empire  Quartz  Mill.  "Ef  the  old 
man  don't  look  out  and  wake  up,"  said  his  fore 
man,  "  he'll  hev  them  feet  of  his  yet  under  the 
stamps.  When  he  ain't  givin'  his  mind  to  'era, 
they  is  altogether  too  promiskuss." 

A  few  nights  later,  Miss  Jenny  recognized 
her  father's  hand  in  a  timid  tap  at  the  door. 
She  opened  it,  and  he  stood  before  her,  with 
a  valise  in  his  hanct,  equipped  as  for  a  journey. 
"  I  takes  the  stage  to-night,  Jinny  dear,  from 
Four  Forks  to  'Frisco.  Maybe  I  may  drop  in 
.on  Jack  afore  I  go.  I'll  be  back  in  a  week. 
Good-by." 

"Good-by."  He  still  held  her  hand.  Pres 
ently  he  drew  her  back  into  the  room,  closing 


26  THE  ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE. 

the  door  carefully,  and  glancing  around.  There 
was  a  look  of  profound  cunning  in  his  eye  as 
he  said  slowly,  — 

"  Bear  up,  and  keep  dark,  Jinny  dear,  and 
trust  to  the  old  man.  Various  men  has  various 
ways.  Thar  is  ways  as  is  common,  and  ways  as 
is  uncommon ;  ways  as  is  easy,  and  ways  as  is 
oneasy.  Bear  up,  and  keep  dark."  With  this 
Delphic  utterance  he  put  his  finger  to  his  lips, 
and  vanished. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  reached  Four 
Forks.  A  few  minutes  later,  he  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  that  dwelling  described  by  the 
Four  Forks  "  Sentinel "  as  "  the  palatial  resi 
dence  of  John  Ashe,"  and  known  to  the  local 
satirist  as  the  "  ash-box."  "  Hevin'  to  lay  by 
two  hours,  John,"  he  said  to  his  prospective 
son-in-law,  as  he  took  his  hand  at  the  door, 
"  a  few  words  of  social  converse,  not  on  busi 
ness,  but  strictly  private,  seems  to  be  about  as 
nat'ral  a  thing  as  a  man  can  do."  This  intro 
duction,  evidently  the  result  of  some  study,  and 
plainly  committed  to  memory,  seemed  so  satis 
factory  to  Mr.  McClosky,  that  he  repeated  it 
again,  after  John  Ashe  had  led  him  into  his 
private  office,  where,  depositing  his  valise  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  sitting  down  before 
it,  he  began  carefully  to  avoid  the  eye  of  his 
host.  John  Ashe,  a  tall,  dark,  handsome  Ken- 


THE  EOSE   OF   TUOLUMNE.  27 

tuckian,  with  whom  even  the  trifles  of  life 
were  evidently  full  of  serious  import,  waited 
with  a  kind  of  chivalrous  respect  the  further 
speech  of  his  guest.  Being  utterly  devoid  of 
any  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  he  always  accepted 
Mr.  McClosky  as  a  grave  fact,  singular  only 
from  his  own  want  of  experience  of  the  class. 

"  Ores  is  running  light  now,"  said  Mr.  Mc 
Closky  with  easy  indifference. 

John  Ashe  returned  that  he  had  noticed  the 
same  fact  in  the  receipts  of  the  mill  at  Four 
Forks. 

Mr.  McClosky  rubbed  his  beard,  and  looked 
at  his  valise,  as  if  for  sympathy  and  sugges 
tion. 

"  You  don't  reckon  on  having  any  trouble 
with  any  of  them  chaps  as  you  cut  out  with 
Jinny  ?  " 

John  Ashe,  rather  haughtily,  had  never 
thought  of  that.  "  I  saw  Ranee  hanging  round 
your  house  the  other  night,  when  I  took  your 
daughter  home ;  but  he  gave  me  a  wide  berth," 
ho  added  carelessly. 

"  Surety,"  said  Mr.  McClosky,  with  a  pecu 
liar  winking  of  the  eye.  After  a  pause,  he  took 
a  fresh  departure  from  his  valise. 

"  A  few  words,  John,  ez  between  man  and 
man,  ez  between  my  daughter's  father  and  her 
husband  who  expects  to  be,  is  about  the  thing, 


28  THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLTJMNE. 

I  take  it,  as  is  fair  and  square.  I  kem  here  to 
say  them.  They're  about  Jinny,  my  gal." 

Ashe's  grave  face  brightened,  to  Mr.  Mc- 
Closky's  evident  discomposure. 

"Maybe  I  should  have  said  about  her 
mother ;  but,  the  same  bein'  a  stranger  to  you, 
I  says  natexally,  '  Jinny.'  " 

Ashe  rMaded  courteously.  Mr.  McClosky, 
with  his  eyes  on  his  valise,  went  on,  — 

"  It  is  sixteen  year  ago  as  I  married  Mrs. 
McClosky  in  the  State  of  Missouri.  She  let  on, 
at  the  time,  to  be  a  widder,  —  a  widder  with  one 
child.  When  I  say  let  on,  I  mean  to  imply 
that  I  subsekently  found  out  that  she  was  not  a 
widder,  nor  a  wife ;  and  the  father  of  the  child 
was,  so  to  speak,  onbeknowst.  Thet  child  was 
Jinny  —  my  gal." 

With  his  eyes  on  his  valise,  and  quietly 
ignoring  the  wholly-crimsoned  face  and  swiftly- 
darkening  brow  of  his  host,  he  continued,  — 

"  Many  little  things  sorter'  tended  to  make 
our  home  in  Missouri  onpleasant.  A  disposi 
tion  to  smash  furniture,  and  heave  knives 
around ;  an  inclination  to  howl  when  drunk, 
and  that  frequent ;  a  habitooal  use  of  vulgar 
language,  and  a  tendency  to  cuss  the  casooal 
visitor,  —  seemed  to  pint,"  added  Mr.  Mc 
Closky  with  submissive  hesitation  "that  —  she 
— was  —  so  to  speak  —  quite  onsuited  to  the 
marriage  relation  in  its  holiest  -aspeck." 


THE  KOSE  OF   TUOLUMNE.  29 

"Damnation!  Why  didn't" — burst  out 
John  Ashe,  erect  and  furious. 

"At  the  end  of  two  year,"  continued  Mr. 
McClosky,  still  intent  on  the  valise,  "  I  allowed 
I'd  get  a  diworce.  Et  about  thet  time,  how 
ever,  Providence  sends  a  circus  into  thet  town, 
and  a  feller  ez  rode  three  horses  to  onct.  Kev 
in'  allez  a  taste  for  athletic  sports,  shejeft  town 
with  this  feller,  leavin'  me  and  Jinny  behind. 
I  sent  word  to  her,  thet,  if  she  would  give  Jinny 
to  me,  we'd  call  it  quits.  And  she  did." 

"  Tell  me,"  gasped  Ashe,  "  did  you  ask  your 
daughter  to  keep  this  from  me  ?  or  did  she  do  it 
of  her  own  accord  ?  " 

"  She  doesn't  know  it,"  said  Mr.  McClosky. 
"  She  thinks  I'm  her  father,  and  that  her 
mother's  dead." 

"  Then,  sir,  this  is  yo'ur  "  — 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  McClosky  slowly, 
"  ez  I've  asked  any  one  to  marry  my  Jinny.  I 
don't  know  ez  I've  persood  that  ez  a  biziness,  or 
even  taken  it  up  as  a  healthful  recreation." 

John  Ashe  paced  the  room  furiously.  Mr. 
McClosky's  eyes  left  the  valise,  and  followed 
him  curiously.  "  Where  is  this  woman  ?  "  de 
manded  Ashe  suddenly.  McClosky's  eyes 
sought  the  valise  again. 

"  She  went  to  Kansas  ;  from  Kansas  she  went 
into  Texas ;  from  Texas  she  eventooally  caine 


SO  THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLUMNB. 

to  Californy.  Being  here,  I've  purvidecl  her 
with  money,  when  her  business  was  slack, 
through  a  friend." 

John  Ashe  groaned.  "  She's  gettin'  rather 
old  and  shaky  for  hosses,  and  now  does  the 
tight-rope  business  and  flying  trapeze.  Never 
hevin'  seen  her  perform,"  continued  Mr.  Mc- 
Closky  with  conscientious  caution,  "  I  can't  say 
how  she  gets  on.  On  the  bills  she  looks  well. 
Thar  is  a  poster,  "  said  Mr.  McClosky.  glan 
cing  at  Ashe,  and  opening  his  valise,  —  "  thar  is 
a  poster  givin'  her  performance  at  Marysville 
next  month."  Mr.  McClosky  slowly  unfolded 
a  large  yellow-and-blue  printed  poster,  pro 
fusely  illustrated.  "  She  calls  herself  '  Mam- 
s'elle  J.  Miglawski,  the  great  Russian  Tra- 
peziste.' " 

John  Ashe  tore  it  from  his  hand.  "  Of 
course,"  he  said,  suddenly  facing  Mr.  McClosky, 
u  you  don't  expect  me  to  go  on  with  this  ?  " 

Mr.  McClosky  took  up  the  poster,  carefully 
refolded  it,  and  returned  it  to  his  valise. 
"When  you  break  off  with  Jinny,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  I  don't  want  any  thing  said  'bout 
this.  She  doesn't  know  it.  She's  a  woman, 
and  I  reckon  you're  a  white  man." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  say  ?  How  am  I  to  go 
back  of  my  word?  " 

"  Write  her  a  note.     Say  sornetliing  hez  come 


THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLUMNE.  31 

to  your  knowledge  (don't  say  what)  that  makes 
you  break  it  off.  You  needn't  be  afeard  Jinny'll 
ever  ask  you  what." 

John  Ashe  hesitated.  He  felt  he  had  been 
cruelly  wronged.  No  gentleman,  no  Ashe, 
could  go  on  further  in  this  affair.  'It  was  pre 
posterous  to  think  of  it.  But  somehow  he  felfc 
at  the  moment  very  unlike  a  gentleman,  or  an 
Ashe,  and  was  quite  sure  he  should  break  down 
under  Jenny's  steady  *yes.  But  then  — he 
could  write  to  her. 

"  So  ores  is  about  as  light  here  as  on  the 
Ridge.  Well,  I  reckon  they'll  come  up  before 
the  rains.  Good-night."  Mr.  McClosky  took 
the  hand  that  his  host  mechanically  extended, 
shook  it  gravely,  and  was  gone. 

When  Mr.  McClosky,  a  week  later,  stepped 
again  upon  his  own  veranda,  he  saw  through 
the  French  window  the  figure  of  a  man  in  his 
parlor.  Under  his  hospitable  roof,  the  sight  was 
not  unusual ;  but,  for  an  instant,  a  subtle  sense 
of  disappointment  thrilled  him.  When  he  saw 
it  was  not  the  face  of  Ashe  turned  toward  him, 
he  was  relieved ;  but  when  he  saw  the  tawny 
beard,  and  quick,  passionate  ej'es  of  Henry 
Ranee,  he  felt  a  new  sense  of  apprehension,  so 
that  he  fell  to  rubbing  his  beard  almost  upon 
liis  very  threshold. 


32  THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLTJMNE. 

Jenny  ran  into  the  hall,  and  seized  her 
father  with  a  little  cry  of  joy.  "  Father,"  said 
Jenny  in  a  hurried  whisper,  "  don't  mind  liim" 
indicating  Ranee  with  a  toss  of  her  yellow 
braids :  "  he's  going  soon.  And  I  think,  father, 
I've  done  liim  wrong.  But  it's  all  over  with 
John  and  me  now.  Read  that  note,  and  see 
how  he's  insulted  me."  Her  lip  quivered ;  but 
she  went  on,  "  It's  Ridgeway  that  he  means, 
father ;  and  I  believ^  it  was  his  hand  struck 
Ridgeway  down,  or  that  he  knows  who  did. 
But  hush  now !  not  a  word." 

She  gave  him  a  feverish  kiss,  and  glided  back 
into  the  parlor,  leaving  Mr.  McClosky,  perplexed 
and  irresolute,  with  the  note  in  his  hand.  He 
glanced  at  it  hurriedly,  and  saw  that  it  was 
couched  in  almost  the  very  words  he  had  sug 
gested.  But  a  sudden,  apprehensive  recollec 
tion  came  over  him.  He  listened ;  and,  with  an 
exclamation  of  dismay,  he  seized  his  hat,  and 
ran  out  of  the  house,  but  too  late.  At  the 
same  moment  a  quick,  nervous  footstep  was 
heard  upon  the  veranda ;  the  French  window 
flew  open,  and,  with  a  light  laugh  of  greeting, 
Ridgeway  stepped  into  the  room. 

Jenny's  finer  ear  first  caught  the  step.  Jen 
ny's  swifter  feelings  had  sounded  the  depths  of 
hope,  of  joy,  of  despair,  before  he  entered  the 
room.  Jenny's  pale  face  was  the  only  one  that 


THE  HOSE  OF  TUOLUMNE.  8h 

met  his,  self-possessed  and  self-reliant,  when  he 
stood  before  them.  An  angry  flush  suffused 
sven  the  pink  roots  of  Ranee's  beard  as  he  rose 
to  his  feet.  An  ominous  fire  sprang  into  Ridge- 
way's  eyes,  and  a  spasm  of  hate  and  scorn 
passed  over  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  and  left 
the  mouth  and  jaw  immobile  and  rigid. 

Yet  he  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  I  owe  you  an 
apology,"  he  said  to  Jenny,  with  a  suave  scorn 
that  brought  the  indignant  blood  back  to  her 
cheek,  u  for  this  intrusion  ;  but  I  ask  no  pardon 
for  withdrawing  from  the  only  spot  where  that 
man  dare  confront  me  with  safety." 

With  an  exclamation  of  rage,  Ranee  sprang 
toward  him.  But  as  quickly  Jenny  stood  be 
tween  them,  erect  and  menacing.  "  There  must 
be  no  quarrel  here,"  she  said  to  Ranee.  "  While 
I  protect  your  right  as  my  guest,  don't  oblige 
me  to  remind  you  of  mine  as  your  hostess." 
She  turned  with  a  half-deprecatory  air  to  Ridge- 
way;  but  he  was  gone.  So  was  her  father. 
Only  Ranee  remained  with  a  look  of  ill-con 
cealed  triumph  on  his  face. 

Without  looking  at  him^  she  passed  toward 
the  door.  When  she  reached  it,  she  turned. 
"  You  asked  me  a  question  an  hour  ago.  Come 
to  me  in  the  garden,  at  nine  o'clock  to-night, 
and  I  will  answer  you.  But  promise  me,  first, 
to  keep  away  from  Mr.  Dent.  Give  me  your 


34  THE   ROSE  OF   TUOLTJJOTE. 

word  not  to  seek  him  —  to  avoid  him,  if  he 
seeks  you.  Do  you  promise  ?  It  is  well." 

He  would  have  taken  her  hand;  but  she 
waved  him  away.  In  another  moment  he  heard 
the  swift  rustle  of  her  dress  in  the  hall,  the 
sound  of  her  feet  upon  the  stair,  the  sharp 
closing  of  her  bedroom  door,  and  all  was  quiet. 

And  even  thus  quietly  the  day  wore  away ; 
and  the  night  rose  slowly  from  the  valley,  and 
overshadowed  the  mountains  with  purple  wings 
that  fanned  the  still  air  into  a  breeze,  until  the 
rnoon  followed  it,  and  lulled  every  thing  to  rest 
as  with  the  laying-on  of  white  and  benedictory 
hands.  It  was  a  lovely  night  i  but  Henry  Ranee, 
waiting  impatiently  beneath  a  sycamore  at  the 
foot  of  the  garden,  saw  no  beauty  in  earth  or 
air  or  sky.  A  thousand  suspicions  common  to  a 
jealous  nature,  a  vague  superstition  of  the  spot, 
rilled  his  mind  with  distrust  and  doubt.  "  If 
this  should  be  a  trick  to  keep  my  hands  off  that 
insolent  pup  !  "  he  muttered.  But,  even  as  the 
thought  passed  his  tongue,  a  white  figure  slid 
from  the  shrubbery  near  the  house,  glided  along 
the  line  of  picket-fence,  and  then  stopped,  mid 
way,  motionless  in  the  moonlight. 

It  was  she.  But  he  scarcely  recognized  her 
in  the  white  drapery  that  covered  her  head  and 
shoulders  and  breast.  He  approached  her  with 
a  hurried  whisper.  "  Let  us  withdraw  from  the 
moonlight.  Everybody  can  see  us  here." 


THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE.  85 

"  We  have  nothing  to  say  that  cannot  be  said 
in  the  moonlight,  Henry  Ranee,"  she  rented, 
coldly  receding  from  his  proffered  hand^She 
trembled  for  a  moment,  as  if  with  a  clml,  and 
then  suddenly  turned  upon  him.  "  Hold  up 
your  head,  and  let  me  look  at  you  !  I'  ve  l^nown 
only  what  men  are  :  let  me  see  what  a  traitor 
looks  like  !  " 

He  recoiled  more  from  her  wild  face  than  her 
words.  He  saw  from  the  first  that  her  hollow 
cheeks  and  hollow  eyes  were  blazing  with  fever. 
He  was  no  coward ;  but  he  would  have  fled. 

"  You  are  ill,  Jenny,"  he  said :  "  you  had  best 
return  to  the  house.  Another  time  "  — 

"Stop!"  she  cried  hoarsely.  "  Move  from 
this  spot,  and  I'll  call  for  help  !  Attempt  to 
leave  me  now,  and  I'll  proclaim  you  the  assas 
sin  that  you  are  !  " 

"  It  was  a  fair  fight,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"  Was  it  a  fair  fight  to  creep  behind  an  un 
armed  and  unsuspecting  man  ?  Was  it  a  fair 
fight  to  try  to  throw  suspicion  on  some  one  else  ? 
Was  it  a  fair  fight  to  deceive  me  ?  Liar  and 
coward  that  3*011  are  !  " 

He  made  a  stealthy  step  toward  her  with  evil 
eyes,  and  a  wickeder  hand  that  crept  within  his 
breast.  She  saw  the  motion ;  but  it  only  stung 
her  to  newer  fury. 

"  Strike  !  "  she  said  with  blazing  eyes,  throw- 


36  THE   ROSE   OF    TUOLTJMNE. 

ing  her  hands  open  before  him.  "  Strike  !  Are 
you  afraid  of  the  woman  who  dares  you  ?  Or 
do  you  keep  your  knife  for  the  backs  of  unsus 
pecting  men  ?  Strike,  I  tell  you !  No  ?  Look, 
then  ! "  With  a  sudden  movement,  she  tore 
from  her  head  and  shoulders  the  thick  lace 
shawl  that  had  concealed  her  figure,  and  stood 
before  him.  "  Look !  "  she  cried  passionately, 
pointing  to  the  bosom  and  shoulders  of  her 
white  dress,  darkly  streaked  with  faded  stains 
and  ominous  discoloration,  —  "  look  !  This  is 
the  dress  I  wore  that  morning  when  I  found 
him  lying  here,  —  here,  —  bleeding  from  your 
cowardly  knife.  Look !  Do  you  see  ?  This  is  his 
blood,  —  my  darling  boy's  blood !  —  one  drop  of 
which,  dead  and  faded  as  it  is,  is  more  precious 
to  me  than  the  whole  living  pulse  of  any  other 
man.  Look  !  I  come  to  you  to-night,  chris 
tened  with  his  blood,  and  dare  you  to  strike,  — 
dare  you  to  strike  him  again  through  me,  and 
mingle  my  blood  with  his.  Strike,  I  implore 
you  !  Strike  !  if  you  have  any  pity  on  me,  for 
God's  sake  !  Strike  !  if  you  are  a  man !  Look  ! 
Here  lay  his  head  on  my  shoulder ;  here  I  held 
him  to  my  breast,  where  never  —  so  help  nie  my 
God !  —  another  man  —  Ah  !  "  — 

She  reeled  against  the  fence,  and  something 
that  had  flashed  in  Ranee's  hand  dropped  at  her 
feet;  for  another  flash  and  report  rolled  him 


THE   ROSE   OF   TTJOLUMNE.  87 

over  in  the  dust :  and  across  his  writhing  body 
two  men  strode,  and  caught  her  ere  she  fell. 

"  She  has  only  fainted,"  said  Mr.  McClosky. 
"  Jinny  dear,  my  girl,  speak  to  me  !  " 

"  What  is  this  on  her  dress  ?  "  said  Ridgeway, 
kneeling  beside  her,  and  lifting  his  set  and  col 
orless  face.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the  color 
came  faintly  back  to  her  cheek  :  she  opened  her 
eyes,  and  smiled. 

"It's  only  your  blood,  dear  boy,"  she  said; 
"  but  look  a  little  deeper,  and  you'll  find  my 
own." 

She  put  up  her  two  yearning  hands,  and  drew 
his  face  and  lips  down  to  her  own.  When 
Ridgeway  raised  his  head  again,  her  eyes  were 
closed ;  but  her  mouth  still  smiled  as  with  the 
memory  of  a  kiss. 

They  bore  her  to  the  house,  still  breathing, 
but  unconscious.  That  night  the  road  was  filled 
with  clattering  horsemen;  and  the  summoned 
skill  .of  the  countryside  for  leagues  away 
gathered  at  her  couch.  The  wound,  they 
said,  was  not  essentially  dangerous;  but  they 
had  grave  fears  of  the  shock  to  a  system  that 
already  seemed  suffering  from  some  strange  and 
unaccountable  nervous  exhaustion.  The  best 
medical  skill  of  Tuolumne  happened  to  be  young 
and  observing,  and  waited  patiently  an  oppor 
tunity  to  account  for  it.  He  was  presently 
rewarded. 


38  THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLTJMNE. 

For  toward  morning  she  rallied,  and  looked 
feebly  around.  Then  she  beckoned  her  father 
toward  her,  and  whispered,  "  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  They  took  him  away,  Jinny  dear,  in  a  cart. 
He  won't  trouble  you  agin."  He  stopped;  for 
Miss  Jenny  had  raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  and 
was  levelling  her  black  brows  at  him.  But  two 
kicks  from  the  young  surgeon,  and  a  significant 
motion  towards  the  door,  sent  Mr.  McClosky 
away  muttering.  "  How  should  I  know  that 
4  he  '  meant  Ridgeway?"  he  said  apologetically, 
as  he  went  and  returned  with  the  young  gentle 
man.  The  surgeon,  who  was  still  holding  her 
pulse,  smiled,  and  thought  that — with  a  little 
care  —  and  attention  —  the  stimulants  —  might 
be  —  diminished  —  and  —  he  —  might  leave  — 
the  patient  for  some  hours  with  perfect  safety. 
He  would  give  further  directions  to  Mr. 
McClosky  —  down  stairs. 

It  was  with  great  archness  of  manner,  that, 
half  an  hour  later,  Mr.  McClosky  entered  the 
room  with  a  preparatory  cough ;  and  it  was  with 
some  disappointment  that  he  found  Ridgeway 
standing  quietly  by  the  window,  and  his  daugh« 
ter  apparently  fallen  into  a  light  doze.  He  was 
still  more  concerned,  when,  after"  Ridgeway  had. 
retired,  noticing  a  pleasant  smile  playing  about 
her  lips,  he  said  softly  — 

"  You  was  thinking  of  some  one,  Jinny?  " 


THE  EOSE  OF  TUOLUMNE.  39 

"  Yes,  father,"  the  gray  eyes  met  his  steadi 
ly,  —  "  of  poor  John  Ashe  !  " 

Her  recovery  was  swift.  Nature,  that  had 
seemed  to  stand  jealously  aloof  from  her  in  her 
mental  anguish,  was  kind  to  the  physical  hurt 
of  her  favorite  child.  The  suberb  physique, 
which  had  been  her  charm  and  her  'trial,  now 
stood  her  in  good  stead.  The  healing  balsam  of 
the  pine,  the  balm  of  resinous  gums,  and  the 
rare  medicaments  of  Sierran  altitudes,  touched 
her  as  it  might  have  touched  the  wounded  doe ; 
so  that  in  two  weeks  she  was  able  to  walk  about. 
And  when,  at  the  end  of  the  month,  Ridgeway 
returned  from  a  flying  visit  to  San  Francisco, 
and  jumped  from  the  Wingdam  coach  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  Rose  of  Tuolumne, 
with  the  dewy  petals  of  either  cheek  fresh  as 
when  first  unfolded  to  his  kiss,  confronted  him 
on  the  road. 

With  a  common  instinct,  their  young  feet  both 
climbed  the  little  hill  now  sacred  to  their 
thought.  When  they  reached  its  summit,  they 
were  both,  I  think,  a  little  disappointed. 
There  is  a  fragrance  in  the  unfolding  of  a  pas 
sion,  that  escapes  the  perfect  flower.  Jenny 
thought  the  night  was  not  as  beautiful ;  Ridge- 
way,  that  the  long  ride  had  blunted  his  percep 
tions.  But  they  had  the  frankness  to  confess  it 
to  each  other,  with  the  rare  delight  of  such  a 


40  THE  ROSE  OF   TUOLUMNE. 

confession,  and  the  comparison  of  details  wliicl> 
tliey  thought  each   had  forgotten.     And   with 
this,  and  an  occasional  pitying  reference  to  the 
blank  period  when  they  had  not  known   each 
other,  hand  in  hand  they  reached  the  house. 

Mr.  McClosky  was  awaiting  them  impatiently 
upon  the  verarida.  When  Miss  Jenny  had, 
slipped  up  stairs  to  replace  a  collar  that  stood 
somewhat  suspiciously  awry,  Mr.  McClosky 
drew  Ridgeway  solemnly  aside.  He  held  a 
large  theatre  poster  in  one  hand,  and  an  open 
newspaper  in  the  other. 

"  I  allus  said,"  he  remarked  slowly,  with  the 
air  of  merely  renewing  a  suspended  conversation, 
—  "I  allus  said  that  riding  three  horses  to  onct 
wasn't  exactly  in  her  line.  It  would  seem  that 
it  ain't.  From  remarks  in  this  yer  paper,  it 
would  appear  that  she  tried  it  on  at  MarysvUle 
last  week,  and  broke  her  neck." 


A  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MR. 
JOHN   OAKHURST. 

HE  always  thought  it  must  have  been  fate. 
Certainly  nothing  could  have  been  more 
inconsistent  with  his  habits  than  to  have  been 
in  the  Plaza  at  seven  o'clock  of  that  midsummer 
morning.  The  sight  of  his  colorless  face  in 
Sacramento  was  rare  at  that  season,  and,  indeed, 
at  any  season,  anywhere  publicly,  before  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Looking  back  upon  it 
in.aftejvyears  in  the  light  of  a  chanceful  life,  he 
determined,  with  the  characteristic  philosophy 
of  his  profession,  that  it  must  have  been  fate. 

Yet  it  is  my  duty,  as  a  strict  chronicler  of 
facts,  to  state  that  Mr.  Oakhurst's  presence 
there  that  morning  was  due  to  a  very  simple 
cause.  At  exactly  half-past  six,  the  bank  being 
then  a  winner  to  the  amount  of  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars,  he  had  risen  from  the  faro-table, 
relinquished  his  seat  to  an  accomplished  assist 
ant,  and  withdrawn  quietly,  without  attracting 
a  glance  from  the  silent,  anxious  faces  bowed 
over  the  table.  Bit  when  he  entered  his  lux- 

41 


42  ME.   JOHN   OAKHURST. 

urious  sleeping-room,  across  the  passage-way, 
he  was  a  little  shocked  at  finding  the  sun  stream 
ing  through  an  inadvertently  opened  window, 
Something  in  the  rare  beauty  of  the  morning, 
perhaps  something  in  the  novelty  of  the  idtn, 
struck  him  as  he  was  about  to  close  the  blind:?; 
and  he  hesitated.  Then,  taking  his  hat  from 
the  table,  he  stepped  down  a  private  staircase 
into  the  street. 

The  people  who  were  abroad  at  that  early 
hour  were  of  a  class  quite  unknown  to  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst.  There  were  milkmen  and  hucksters  de 
livering  their  wares,  small  tradespeople  opening 
their  shops,  housemaids  sweeping  doorsteps, 
and  occasionally  a  child.  These  Mr.  Oakhurst 
regarded  with  a  certain  cold  curiosity,  perhaps 
quite  free  from  the  cynical  disfavor  with  which 
he  generally  looked  upon  the  more  pretentious 
of  his  race  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting. 
Indeed,  I  think  he  was  not  altogether  displeased 
with  the  admiring  glances  which  these  humble 
women  threw  after  his  handsome  face  and  figure, 
conspicuous  even  in  a  country  of  fine-looking 
men.  While  it  is  very  probable  that  this 
wicked  vagabond,  in  the  pride  of  his  social  iso 
lation,  would  have  been  coldly  indifferent  to  the 
advances  of  a  fine  lady,  a  little  girl  who  ran  ad 
miringly  by  his  side  in  a  ragged  dress  had  the 
power  to  call  a  faint  flush  into  his  colorless 


MR.    JOHN    OAKHURST.  43 

cheek.  He  dismissed  her  at  last,  but  not  until 
she  had  found  out — what,  sooner  or  later,  her 
large-hearted  and  discriminating  sex  inevitably 
did* — that  he  was  exceedingly  free  and  open- 
handed  with  his  money,  and  also  —  what, 
perhaps,  none  other  of  her  sex  ever  did  —  that 
the  bold  black  eyes  of  this  fine  gentleman  were 
in  reality  of  a  brownish  and  even  tender  gray.  . 
There  was  a  small  garden  before  a  white 
cottage  in  a  side-street,  that  attracted  Mr. 
Oakhurst's  attention.  It  was  filled  with  roses, 
heliotrope,  and  verbena,  —  flowers  familiar 
enough  to  him  in  the  expensive  and  more  por 
table  form  of  bouquets,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  him 
then,  never  before  so  notably  lovely.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  the  dew  was  yet  fresh  upon  them ; 
perhaps  it  was  because  they  were  unplucked: 
but  Mr.  Oakhurst  admired  them — not  as  a 
possible  future  tribute  to  the  fascinating  and 
accomplished  Miss  Ethelinda,  then  performing 
at  the  Varieties,  for  Mr.  Oakhurst's  especial  ben 
efit,  as  she  had  often  assured  him ;  nor  yet  as  a 
douceur  to  the  inthralling  Miss  Montmorrissy, 
with  whom  Mr.  Oakhurst  expected  to  sup  that 
evening ;  but  simply  for  himself,  and,  mayhap, 
for  the  flowers'  sake.  Howbeit  he  passed  on, 
and  so  out  into  the  open  Plaza,  where,  finding  a 
bench  under  a  cottonwood-tree,  he  first  dusted 
the  seat  with  his  handkerchief,  and  then  sat 
down. 


44  MR.   JOHN   OAKHURST. 

It  was  a  fine  morning.  The  air  was  so  still 
and  calm,  that  a  sigh  from  the  sycamores  seemed 
like  the  deep-drawn  breath  of  the  just  awaken 
ing  tree,  and  the  faint  rustle  of  its  boughs  as 
the  outstretching  of  cramped  and  reviving  limbs. 
Far  away  the  Sierras  stood  out  against  a  sky 
so  remote  as  to  be  of  no  positive  color,  —  so  re 
mote,  that  even  the  sun  despaired  of  ever  reach 
ing  it,  and  so  expended  its  strength  recklessly 
on  the  whole  landscape,  until  it  fairly  glittered 
in  a  white  and  vivid  contrast.  With  a  very 
rare  impulse,  Mr.  Oakhurst  took  off  his  hat, 
and  half  reclined  on  the  bench,  with  his  face  to 
the  sky.  Certain  birds  who  had  taken  a  critical 
attitude  on  a  spray  above  him,  apparently  began 
an  animated  discussion  regarding  his  possible 
malevolent  intentions.  One  or  two,  emboldened 
by  the  silence,  hopped  on  the  ground  at  his  feet, 
until  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  gravel-walk 
frightened  them  away. 

Looking  up,  he  saw  a  man  coming  slowly 
toward  him,  wheeling  a  nondescript  vehicle,  in 
which  a  woman  was  partly  sitting,  partly  reclin 
ing.  Without  knowing  why,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
instantly  conceived  that  the  carriage  was  the 
invention  and  workmanship  of  the  man,  partly 
from  its  oddity,  partly  from  the  strong,  mechan 
ical  hand  that  grasped  it,  and  partly  from  a 
certain  pride  and  visible  consciousness  in  the 


MB.   JOHN   OAKHURST.  45 

manner  in  which  the  man  handled  it.  Then 
Mr.  Oakhurst  saw  something  more:  the  man's 
face  was  familiar.  With  that  regal  faculty  of 
not  forgetting  a  face  that  had  ever  given  him 
professional  audience,  he  instantly  classified  it 
under  the  following  mental  formula:  "At 
'Frisco,  Polka  Saloon.  Lost  his  week's  wages. 
I  reckon  —  seventy  dollars  —  on  red.  Never 
came  again."  There  was,  however,  no  trace  of 
this  in  the  calm  eyes  and  unmoved  face  that 
he  turned  upon  the  stranger,  who,  on  the  con 
trary,  blushed,  looked  embarrassed,  hesitated, 
and  then  stopped  with  an  involuntary  motion 
that  brought  the  carriage  and  its  fair  occupant 
face  to  face  with  Mr.  Oakhurst. 

I  should  hardly  do  justice  to  the  position  she 
will  occupy  in  this  veracious  chronicle  by  de 
scribing  the  lady  now,  if,  indeed,  I  am  able  to 
do  it  at  all.  Certainly  the  popular  estimate 
was  conflicting.  The  late  Col.  Starbottle  —  to 
whose  large  experience  of  a  charming  sex  I  have 
before  been  indebted  for  many  valuable  sugges 
tions  — had,  I  regret  to  say,  depreciated  her  fas 
cinations.  "A  yellow-faced  cripple,  by  dash! 
a  sick  woman,  with  mahogany  eyes  ;  one  of  your 
blanked  spiritual  creatures  —  with  no  flesh  on 
her  bones."  On  the  other  hand,  however,  she 
enjoyed  later  much  complimentary  disparage 
ment  from  her  own  sex.  Miss  Celestina  Howard, 


46  MR.   JOHN   OAKHTJRST. 

second  leader  in  the  ballet  at  the  Varieties,  had, 
with  great  alliterative  directness,  in  after-years, 
denominated  her  as  an  "  aquiline  asp."  Mile. 
Brimborion  remembered  that  she  had  always 
warned  "  Mr.  Jack "  that  this  woman  w<|uld 
"empoison"  him.  But  Mr.  Oakhurst,  whose 
impressions  are  perhaps  the  most  important, 
only  saw  a  pale,  thin,  deep-eyed  woman,  raised 
above  the  level  of  her  companion  by  the  refine 
ment  of  long  suffering  and  isolation,  and  a 
certain  shy  virginity  of  manner.  There  was  a 
suggestion  of  physical  purity  in  the  folds  of  her 
fresh-looking  robe,  and  a  certain  picturesque 
tastefulness  in  the  details,  that,  without  know 
ing  why,  made  him  think  that  the  robe  was  her 
invention  and  handiwork,  even  as  the  carriage 
she  occupied  was  evidently  the  work  of  her 
companion.  Her  own  hand,  a  trifle  too  thin, 
but  well-shaped,  subtle-fingered,  and  gentle- 
womanly,  rested  on  the  side  of  the  carriage,  the 
counterpart  of  the  strong  mechanical  grasp  of 
her  companion's. 

There  was  some  obstruction  to  the  progress 
of  the  vehicle ;  and  Mr.  Oakhurst  stepped  for 
ward  to  assist.  While  the  wheel  was  being 
lifted  over  the  curbstone,  it  was  necessary  that 
she  should  hold  his  arm ;  and  for  a  moment  her 
thin  hand  rested  there,  light  and  cold  as  a  snow- 
flake,  and  then,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  like  a 


MR.   JOHN   OAKHURST.  47 

snow-flake  melted  away.  Then  there  was  a 
pause,  and  then  conversation,  the  lady  joining 
occasionally  and  shyly. 

It  appeared  that  they  were  man  and  wife; 
thai* for  the  past  two  years  she  had  been  a  great 
invalid,  and  had  lost  the  use  of  her  lower  limbs 
from  rheumatism;  that  until  lately  she  had 
been  confined  to  her  bed,  until  her  husband  — 
who  was  a  master-carpenter  —  had  bethought 
himself  to  make  her  this  carriage.  He  took  her 
out  regularly  for  an  airing  before  going  to  work, 
because  it  was  his  only  time,  and  —  they  attracted 
less  attention.  They  had  tried  many  doctors, 
but  without  avail.  They  had  been  advised  to 
go  to  the  Sulphur  Springs;  but  it  was  expensive. 
Mr.  Decker,  the  husband,  had  once  saved  eighty 
dollars  for  that  purpose,  but  while  in  San  Fran 
cisco  had  his  pocket  picked  —  Mr  Decker  was  so 
senseless  !  (The  intelligent  reader  need  not  be 
told  that  it  is  the  lady  who  is  speaking.)  They 
had  never  been  able  to  make  up  the  sum  again, 
and  they  had  given  up  the  idea.  It  was  a  dread 
ful  thing  to  have  one's  pocket  picked.  Did  he 
not  think  so  ? 

Her  husband's  face  was  crimson ;  but  Mr. 
Oakhurst's  countenance  was  quite  calm  and 
unmoved,  as  he  gravely  agreed  with  her,  and 
walked  by  her  side  until  they  passed  the  little 
garden  that  he  had  admired.  Here  Mr.  Oak- 


48  MR.   JOHN  OAKHURST. 

hurst  commanded  a  halt,  and,  going  to  the  door, 
.astounded  the  proprietor  by  a  preposterously 
extravagant  offer  for  a  choice  of  the  flowers. 
Presently  he  returned  to  the  carriage  with  his 
arms  full  of  roses,  heliotrope,  and  verbena,  and 
cast  them  in  the  lap  of  the  invalid.  While  she 
was  bending  over  them  with  childish  delight, 
Mr.  Oakhurst  took  the  opportunity  of  drawing 
her  husband  aside. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  a 
manner  quite  free  from  any  personal  annoyance, 
—  "  perhaps  it's  just  as  well  that  you  lied  to  her 
as  you  did.  You  can  say  now  that  the  pick 
pocket  was  arrested  the  other  day,  and  you  got 
your  money  back."  Mr.  Oakhurst  quietly 
slipped  four  twenty-dollar  gold-pieces  into  the 
broad  hand  of  the  bewildered  Mr.  Decker. 
"  Say  that  —  or  any  thing  you  like  —  but*  the 
truth.  Promise  me  you  won't  say  that." 

The  man  promised.  Mr.  Oakhurst  quietly 
returned  to  the  front  of  the  little  carriage. 
The  sick  woman  was  still  eagerly  occupied  with 
the  flowers,  and,  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his, 
her  faded  cheek  seemed  to  have  caught  some 
color  from  the  roses,  and  her  eyes  some  of  their 
dewy  freshness.  But  at  that  instant  Mr.  Oak 
hurst  lifted  his  hat,  and  before  she  could  thank 
him  was  gone. 

I  grieve  to  say  that  Mr.  Decker  shamelessly 


MB.   JOHN   OAKHURST.  49 

broke  his  promise.  That  night,  in  the  very 
goodness  of  his  heart  and  uxorious  self-abnega 
tion,  he,  like  all  devoted  husbands,  not  only 
offered  himself,  but  liis  friend  and  benefactor, 
as  a  sacrifice  on  the  family-altar.  It  is  only  fair, 
however,  to  add  that  he  spoke  with  great  fervor 
of  the  generosity  of  Mr.  Oakhurst,  and  dwelt 
with  an  enthusiasm  quite  common  with  his 
class  on  the  mysterious  fame  and  prodigal  vic« 
of  the  gambler. 

"  And  now,  Elsie  dear,  say  that  you'll  forgive 
me,"  said  Mr.  Decker,  dropping  on  one  knee 
beside  his  wife's  couch.  "  I  did  it  for  the  best. 
It  was  for  you,  dearey,  that  I  put  that  money 
on  them  cards  that  night  in  'Frisco.  I  thought 
to  win  a  heap  —  enough  to  take  you  away,  and 
enough  left  to  get  you  a  new  dress." 

Mrs.  Decker  smiled,  and  pressed  her  hus 
band's  hand.  "I  do  forgive  you,  Joe  dear," 
she  said,  still  smiling,  with  eyes  abstractedly 
fixed  on  the  ceiling ;  "  and  you  ought  to  be 
whipped  for  deceiving  me  so,  you  bad  boy !  and 
making  me  make  such  a  speech.  There,  say  no 
more  about  it.  If  you'll  be  very  good  hereafter, 
and  will  just  now  hand  me  that  cluster  of  loses, 
I'll  forgive  you."  She  took  the  branch  in  her 
fingers,  lifted  the  roses  to  her  face,  and  pres 
ently  said,  behind  their  leaves,  — 

"Joe!" 


60  MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST. 

"  What  is  it,  lovey  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  this  Mr.  —  what  do  you 
call  him?  —  Jack  Oakhurst  would  have  given 
that  money  back  to  you, 'if  I  hadn't  made  that 
speech  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  If  he  hadn't  seen  me  at  all  ?  " 

Mr.  Decker  looked  up.  His  wife  had  man 
aged  in  some  way  to  cover  up  her  whole  face 
with  the  roses,  except  her  eyes,  which  were 
dangerously  bright. 

"  No  !  It  was  you,  Elsie  —  it  was  all  along  of 
seeing  you  that  made  him  do  it." 

"  A  poor  sick  woman  like  me  ?  " 

"  A  sweet,  little,  lovely,  pooty  Elsie  —  Joe's 
own  little  wifey !  How  could  he  help  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Decker  fondly  cast  one  arm  around  her 
husband's  neck,  still  keeping  the  roses  to  her 
face  with  the  other.  From  behind  them  she 
began  to  murmur  gently  and  idiotically,  "  Dear, 
ole  square  Joey.  Elsie's  oney  booful  big  bear." 
But,  really,  I  do  not  see  that  my  duty  as  a 
chronicler  of  facts  compels  me  to  continue  this 
little  lady's  speech  any  further;  and,  out  of 
respect  to  the  unmarried  reader,  I  stop. 

Nevertheless,  the  next  morning  Mrs.  Decker 
betrayed  some  slight  and  apparently  uncalled- 
for  irritability  on  reaching  the  Plaza,  and  pres 
ently  desired  her  husband  to  wheel  her  back 


r 

MR.   JOHN   OAKHURST.  51 

home.  Moreover,  she  was  very  much  aston 
ished  at  meeting  Mr.  Oakhurst  just  as  they 
were  returning,  and  even  doubted  if  it  were  he, 
and  questioned  her  husband  as  to  his  identity 
with  the  stranger  of  yesterday  as  he  approached, 
tier  manner  to  Mr.  Oakhurst,  also,  was  quite  in 
contrast  with  her  husband's  frank  welcome. 
Mr.  Oakhurst  instantly  detected  it.  "  Her  hus 
band  has  told  her  all,  and  she  dislikes  me,"  he 
said  to  himself,  with  that  fatal  appreciation  of 
the  half-truths  of  a  woman's  motives  that 
causes  the  wisest  masculine  critic  to  stumble, 
He  lingered  only  long  enough  to  take  the  busi 
ness  address  of  the  husband,  and  then  lifting 
his  hat  gravely,  without  looking  at  the  lady, 
went  his  way.  It  struck  the  honest  master-car 
penter  as  one  of  the  charming  anomalies  of  his 
wife's  character,  that,  although  the  meeting  was 
evidently  very  much  constrained  and  unpleas 
ant,  instantly  afterward  his  wife's  spirits  began 
to  rise.  "  You  was  hard  on  him,  a  leetle  hard ; 
wasn't  you,  Elsie?"  said  Mr.  Decker  dep- 
recatingly.  "  I'm  afraid  he  may  think  I've 
broke  my  promise."  —  "  Ah,  indeed !  "  said  the 
lady  indifferently.  Mr.  Decker  instantly  stepped 
round  to  the  front  of  the  vehicle.  "  You  look 
like  an  A  1  first-class  lady  riding  down  Broad 
way  in  her  own  carriage,  Elsie,"  said  he.  "I 
never  seed  you  lookin'  so  peart  and  sassy 
before." 


52  MB.   JOHN  OAKHURST. 

A  few  days  later,  the  proprietor  of  the  San 
Isabel  Sulphur  Springs  received  the  following 
note  in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  well-known,  dainty 
hand :  — 

"DEAR  STEVE,  —  I've  been  thinking  over  your  prop 
osition  to  buy  Nichols's  quarter-interest,  and  have  con 
cluded  to  go  in.  But  1  don't  see  how  the  thing  will  pay 
until  you  have  more  accommodation  down  there,  and  for 
the  best  class,  —  I  mean  my  customers.  What  we  want 
is  an  extension  to  the  main  building,  and  two  or  three 
cottages  put  up.  I  send  down  a  builder  to  take  hold  of 
the  job  at  once.  He  takes  his  sick  wife  with  him;  and 
you  are  to  look  after  them  as  you  would  for  one  of  us. 

"  I  may  run  down  there  myself  after  the  races,  just 
to  look  after  things;  but  I  sha'n't  set  up  any  game  this 
season. 

"Yours  always, 

"  JOHN  OAKHURST." 

It  was  only  the  last  sentence  of  this  letter 
that  provoked  criticism.  "  I  can  understand," 
said  Mr.  Hamlin,  a  professional  brother,  to  whom 
Mr.  Oakhurst's  letter  was  shown,  —  "I  can 
understand  why  Jack  goes  in  heavy  and  builds ; 
for  it's  a  sure  spec,  and  is  bound  to  be  a  mighty 
soft  thing  in  time,  if  he  comes  here  regularly. 
But  why  in  blank  he  don't  set  up  a  bank  this 
season,  and  take  the  chance  of  getting  some  of 
the  money  back  that  he  puts  into  circulation  in 
building,  is  what  gets  me.  I  wonder  now,"  he 
mused  deeply,  "  what  is  his  little  game." 


MR.    JOHN   OAKHtTEST.  53 

The  season  had  been  a  prosperous  one  to  Mr 
Oakhurst,  and  proportionally  disastrous  to  sev 
eral  members  of  the  legislature,  judges,  colo 
nels,  and  others  who  had  enjoyed  but  briefly  the 
pleasure  of  Mr.  Oakhurst's  midnight  society. 
And  yet  Sacramento  had  become  very  dull  to 
him.  He  had  lately  formed  a  habit  of  early 
morning  walks,  so  unusual  and  startling  to  his 
friends,  both  male  and  female,  as  to  occasion 
the  intensest  curiosity.  Two  or  three  of  the 
latter  set  spies  upon  his  track ;  but  the  inquisi 
tion  resulted  only  in  the  discovery  that  Mr. 
Oakhurst  walked  to  the  Plaza,  sat  down  upon 
one  particular  bench  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  returned  without  seeing  anybody ;  and  the 
theory  that  there  was  a  woman  in  the' case  was 
abandoned.  A  few  superstitious  gentlemen  of 
his  own  profession  believed  that  he  did  it  for 
"  luck."  Some  others,  more  practical,  declared 
that  he  went  out  to  "  study  points." 

After  the  races  at  Marysville,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
went  to  San  Francisco ;  from  that  place  he 
returned  to  Marysville,  but  a  few  days  after  was 
seen  at  San  Jose",  Santa  Cruz,  and  Oakland. 
Those  who  met  him  declared  that  his  manner 
was  restless  and  feverish,  and  quite  unlike  his 
ordinary  calmness  and  phlegm.  Col.  Starbottle 
pointed  out  the  fact,  that  at  San  Francisco,  at 
the  club,  Jack  had  declined  to  deal.  "  Hand 


64  MR.   JOHN   OAKHCHST. 

shaky,  sir;  depend  upon  it.  Don't  stimulate 
enough  —  blank  him !  " 

From  San  Jos6  he  started  to  go  to  Oregon  by 
land  with  a  rather  expensive  outfit  of  horses 
and  camp  equipage  ;  but,  on  reaching  Stockton, 
he  suddenly  diverged,  and  four  hours  later 
f:mnd  him  with  a  single  horse  entering  the 
canon  of  the  San  Isabel  Warm  Sulphur  Springs. 

It  was  a  pretty  triangular  valley  lying  at  the 
foot  of  three  sloping  mountains,  dark  with  pines, 
and  fantastic  with  madrono  and  manzanita. 
Nestling  against  the  mountain-side,  the  strag 
gling  buildings  and  long  piazza  of  the  hotel 
glittered  through  the  leaves,  and  here  and  there 
shone  a  white  toy-like  cottage.  Mr.  Oakhurst 
was  not  an  admirer  of  Nature ;  but  he  felt  some 
thing  of  the  same  novel  satisfaction  in  the  view, 
that  he  experienced  in  his  first  morning  walk  in 
Sacramento.  And  now  carriages  began  to  pass 
him  on  the  road  filled  with  gayly-dressed  women ; 
and  the  cold  California  outlines  of  the  land 
scape  began  to  take  upon  themselves  somewhat 
of  a  human  warmth  and  color.  And  then  the 
long  hotel  piazza  came  in  view,  efflorescent 
with  the  full-toiletted  fair.  Mr.  Oakhurst,  a 
good  rider  after  the  California  fashion,  did  not 
check  his  speed  as  he  approached  his  destina 
tion,  but  charged  the  hotel  at  a  gallop,  threw 
his  horse  on  his  haunches  within  a  foot  of  the 


MR.   JOHN   OAKHUEST.  65 

piazza,  and  then  quietly  emerged  from  the 
cloud  of  dust  that  veiled  his  dismounting. 

Whatever  feverish  excitement  might  have 
raged  within,  all  his  habitual  calm  returned  aa 
he  stepped  upon  the  piazza.  With  the  instinct 
of  long  habit,  he  turned  and  faced  the  battery 
of  eyes  with  the  same  cold  indifference  with 
which  he  had  for  years  encountered  the  half- 
hidden  sneers  of  men  and  the  half-frightened 
admiration  of  women.  Only  one  person  stepped 
forward  to  welcome  him.  Oddly  enough,  it 
was  Dick  Hamilton,  perhaps  the  only  one 
present,  who  by  birth,  education,  and  posi 
tion,  might  have  satisfied  the  most  fastidious 
social  critic.  Happily  for  Mr.  Oakhurst's  rep 
utation,  he  was  also  a  very  rich  banker  and 
social  leader.  "  Do  you  know  who  that  is 
you  spoke  to  ? "  asked  young  Parker  with 
an  alarmed  expression.  "  Yes,"  replied  Ham 
ilton  with  characteristic  effrontery.  "  The 
man  you  lost  a  thousand  dollars  to  last  week. 
I  only  know  him  socially"  "  But  isn't  he  a 
gambler  ? "  queried  the  }*oungest  Miss  Smith. 
"  He  is,"  replied  Hamilton ;  "  but  I  wish,  my 
dear  young  lady,  that  we  all  played  as  open  and 
honest  a  game  as  our  friend  yonder,  and  were 
as  willing  as  he  is  to  abide  by  its  fortunes." 

But  Mr.  Oakhurst  was  happily  out  of  hear 
ing  of  this  colloquy,  and  was  even  then  loun« 


56  ME.   JOHN  OAKHUEST. 

ging  listlessly  yet  watchfully  along  the  uppei 
hall.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  light  footstep 
behind  him,  and  then  his  name  called  in  a  fa 
miliar  voice  that  drew  the  blood  quickly  to  his 
heart.  He  turned,  and  she  stood  before  him. 

But  how  transformed !  If  I  have  hesitated 
to  describe  the  hollow-eyed  cripple,  the 
quaintly-dressed  artisan's  wife,  a  few  pages  dgo, 
what  shall  I  do  with  this  graceful,  shapely, 
elegantly-attired  gentlewoman  into  whom  she 
has  been  merged  within  these  two  months  ?  In 
good  faith  she  was  very  pretty.  You  and  I,  my 
dear  madam,  would  have  been  quick  to  see 
that  those  charming  dimples  were  misplaced  for 
true  beauty,  and  too  fixed  in  their  quality  for 
honest  mirthfulness  ;  that  the  delicate  lines 
around  these  aquiline  nostrils  were  cruel  and 
selfish ;  that  the  sweet  virginal  surprise  of  these 
lovely  eyes  were  as  apt  to  be  opened  on  her 
plate  as  upon  the  gallant  speeches  of  her  dinner 
partner ;  that  her  sympathetic  color  came  and 
went  more  with  her  own  spirits  than  yours. 
But  you  and  I  are  not  in  love  with  her,  dear 
madam,  and  Mr.  Oakhurst  is.  And,  even  in  the 
folds  of  her  Parisian  gown,  I  am  afraid  this 
poor  fellow  saw  the  same  subtle  strokes  of 
purity  that  he  had  seen  in  her  homespun  robe. 
And  then  there  was  the  delightful  revelation 
that  she  could  walk,  and  that  she  had  dear 


MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST.  57 

little  feet  of  her  own  in  the  tiniest  slippers  of 
her  French  shoemaker,  with  such  preposterous 
blue  bows,  and  Chappell's  own  stamp  —  Rue  de 
something  or  other,  Paris — on  the  narrow  sole. 

He  ran  toward  her  with  a  heightened  color 
and  outstretched  hands.  But  she  whipped  her 
own  behind  her,  glanced  rapidly  up  and  down 
the  long  hall,  and  stood  looking  at  him  with  a 
half-audacious,  half-mischievous  admiration,  in 
utter  contrast  to  her  old  reserve. 

"  I've  a  great  mind  not  to  shake  hands  with 
you  at  all.  You  passed  me  just  now  on  the 
piazza  without  speaking ;  and  I  ran  after  you,  as 
I  suppose  many  another  poor  woman  has  done." 

Mr.  Oakhurst  stammered  that  she  was  so 
changed. 

"  The  more  reason  why  you  should  know  me. 
Who  changed  me  ?  You.  You  have  re-created 
me.  You  found  a  helpless,  crippled,  sick, 
poverty-stricken  woman,  with  one  dress  to  her 
back,  and  that  her  own  make,  and  you  gave  her 
life,  health,  strength,  and  fortune.  You  did; 
and  you  know  it,  sir.  How  do  you  like  your 
work?"  She  caught  the  side-seams  of  her 
gown  in  either  hand,  and  dropped  him  a  playful 
courtesy.  Then,  with  a  sudden,  relenting 
gesture,  she  gave  him  both  her  hands. 

Outrageous  as  this  speech  was,  and  unfemi- 
nine  as  I  trust  every  fair  reader  will  deem  it, 


58  ME.   JOHN   OAKHUKST. 

I  fear  it  pleased  Mr.  Oakhurst.  Not  but  that 
lie  was  accustomed  to  a  certain  frank  female 
admiration ;  but  then  it  was  of  the  coulisse, 
and  not  of  the  cloister,  with  which  he  always 
persisted  in  associating  Mrs.  Decker.  To  be 
addressed  in  this  way  by  an  invalid  Puritan,  a 
sick  saint  with  the  austerity  of  suffering  still 
clothing  her,  a  woman  who  had  a  Bible  on  the 
dressing-table,  who  went  to  church  three  times 
a  day,  and  was  devoted  to  her  husband,  com 
pletely  bowled  him  over.  He  still  held  her 
hands  as  she  went  on,  — 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  before  ?  What  were 
you  doing  in  Marysville,  in  San  Josd,  in  Oak 
land?  You  see  I  have  followed  you.  I  saw 
you  as  you  came  down  the  cafion,  and  knew 
you  at  once.  I  saw  your  letter  to  Joseph,  and 
knew  you  were  coming.  Why  didn't  you  write 
to  me  ?  You  will  some  time  !  —  Good-evening, 
Mr.  Hamilton." 

She  had  withdrawn  her  hands,  but  not  until 
Hamilton,  ascending  the  staircase,  was  nearly 
abreast  of  them.  He  raised  his  hat  to  her 
with  well-bred  composure,  nodded  familiarly  to 
Oakhurst,  and  passed  on.  When  he  had  gone, 
Mrs.  Decker  lifted  her  eyes  to  Mr.  Oakhurst. 
"  Some  day  I  shall  ask  a  great  favor  of  you." 

Mr.  Oakhurst  begged  that  it  should  be  now. 
"  No,  not  until  you  know  me  better.  Then, 
some  day,  I  shall  want  you  to — kill  that  man!" 


MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST. 

She  laughed  such  a  pleasant  little  ringing 
laugh,  such  a  display  of  dimples, — albeit  a  littlti 
fixed  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  —  such  an 
innocent  light  in  her  brown  eyes,  and  such  a 
lovely  color  in  her  cheeks,  that  Mr.  Oakhurst 
(who  seldom  laughed)  was  fain  to  laugh  too. 
It  was  as  if  a  lamb  had  proposed  to  a  fox  a 
foray  into  a  neighboring  sheepfold.  . 

A  few  evenings  after  this,  Mrs.  Decker  arose 
from  a  charmed  circle  of  her  admirers  on  the 
hotel  piazza,  excused  herself  for  a  few  moments, 
laughingly  declined  an  escort,  and  ran  over  to 
her  little  cottage  —  one  of  her  husband's  crea 
tion  —  across  the  road.  Perhaps  from  the 
sudden  and  unwonted  exercise  in  her  still  con 
valescent  state,  she  breathed  hurriedly  and 
feverishly  as  she  entered  her  boudoir,  and  once 
or  twice  placed  her  hand  upon  her  breast.  She 
was  startled  on  turning  up  the  light  to  find  her 
husband  lying  on  the  sofa. 

"  You  look  hot  and  excited,  Elsie  love,"  said 
Mr.  Decker.  "  You  ain't  took  worse,  are  you?" 

Mrs  Decker's  face  had  paled,  but  now  flushed 
again.  , "  No,"  she  said ;  "  only  a  little  pain 
here,"  as  she  again  placed  her  hand  upon  her 
corsage. 

"Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you?"  said  Mr. 
Desker,  rising  with  affectionate  concern. 

"  Run  over  to  the  hotel  and  get  me  some 
brandy,  quick ! " 


60  MR.   JOHN   OAKHURST. 

Mr.  Decker  ran.  Mrs  Decker  closed  and 
bolted  the  door,  and  then,  putting  her  hand  to 
her  bosom,  drew  out  the  pain.  It  was  folded 
foursquare,  and  was,  I  grieve  to  say,  in  Mr. 
Oakhurst's  handwriting. 

She  devoured  it  with  burning  eyes  and 
cheeks  until  there  came  a  step  upon  the  porch ; 
then  she  hurriedly  replaced  it  in  her  bosom, 
and  unbolted  the  door.  Her  husband  entered. 
She  raised  the  spirits  to  her  lips,  and  declared 
herself  better. 

"  Are  you  going  over  there  again  to-night  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Decker  submissively. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Decker,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
dreamily  on  the  floor. 

"  I  wouldn't  if  I  was  you,"  said  Mr.  Decker 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  After  a  pause,  he  took  a 
seat  on  the  sofa,  and,  drawing  his  wife  to  his 
side,  said,  "  Do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking 
of  when  you  came  in,  Elsie  ?  "  Mrs.  Decker 
ran  her  fingers  through  his  stiff  black  hair,  and 
couldn't  imagine. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  old  times,  Elsie  :  I  was 
thinking  of  the  days  when  I  built  that  kerridge 
for  you,  Elsie,  —  when  I  used  to  take  you  out  to 
ride,  and  was  both  hoss  and  driver.  We  was 
poor  then,  and  you  was  sick,  Elsie ;  but  we  was 
happy.  We've  got  money  now,  and  a  house  ; 
and  you're  quite  another  woman.  I  may  say, 


ME.   JOHN   OAKHURST.  61 

dear,  that  you're  a  new  woman.  And  that's 
where  the  trouble  comes  in.  I  could  build  you 
a  kerridge,  Elsie ;  I  could  build  you  a  house, 
Elsie  —  but  there  I  stopped.  I  couldn't  build 
up  you.  You're  strong  and  pretty,  Elsie,  and 
fresh  and  new.  But  somehow,  Elsie,  you  ain't 
no  work  of  mine  !  " 

He  paused.  With  one  hand  laid  gently  on 
his  forehead,  and  the  other  pressed  upon  her 
bosom,  as  if  to  feel  certain  of  the  presence  of  her 
pain,  she  said  sweetly  and  soothingly, — 

"  But  it  was  your  work,  dear." 

Mr.  Decker  shook  his  head  sorrowfully.  "  No, 
Elsie,  not  mine.  I  had  the  chance  to  do  it 
once,  and  I  let  it  go.  It's  done  now  —  but  not 
by  me." 

Mrs.  Decker  raised  her  surprised,  innocent 
eyes  to  his.  He  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  then 
went  on  in  a  more  cheerful  voice,  — 

"  That  ain't  all  I  was  thinking  of,  Elsie.  I 
was  thinking  that  maybe  you  give  too  much  of 
your  company  to  that  Mr.  Hamilton.  Not  that 
there's  any  wrong  in  it,  to  you  or  him ;  but  it 
might  make  people  talk.  You're  the  only  one 
here,  Elsie,"  said  the  master-carpenter,  looking 
fondly  at  his  wife,  "who  isn't  talked  about, 
whose  work  ain't  inspected  or  condemned." 

Mrs.  Decker  was  glad  he  had  spoken  about  it. 
She  had  thought  so  too.  But  she  could  not  well 


62  MR.   JOHN  OAKHURST, 

be  uncivil  to  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  was  a  fine  gen 
tleman,  without  making  a  powerful  enemy. 
"And  he's  always  treated  me  as  if  I  was  a  borfc 
lady  in  his  own  circle,"  added  the  little  woman, 
with  a  certain  pride  that  made  her  husband 
fondly  smile.  "  But  I  have  thought  of  a  plan, 
He  will  not  stay  here  if  I  should  go  away.  If, 
for  instance,  I  went  to  San  Francisco  to  visit 
ma  for  a  few  days,  he  would  be  gone  before  I 
should  return." 

Mr.  Decker  was  delighted.  "  By  all  means," 
he  said,  "go  to-morrow.  Jack  Oakhurst  is 
going  down ;  and  I'll  put  you  in  his  charge." 

Mrs.  Decker  did  not  think  it  was  prudent. 
"  Mr.  Oakhurst  is  our  friend,  Joseph ;  but  you 
know  his  reputation."  In  fact,  she  did  not 
know  that  she  ought  to  go  now,  knowing  that 
he  was  going  the  same  day ;  but,  with  a  kiss,  Mr. 
Decker  overcame  her  scruples.  She  yielded 
gracefully.  Few  women,  in  fact,  knew  how  to 
give  up  a  point  as  charmingly  as  she. 

She  staid  a  week  in  San  Francisco.  When 
she  returned,  she  was  a  trifle  thinner  and  paler 
than  she  had  been.  This  she  explained  as  the 
result  of  perhaps  too  active  exercise  and  excite 
ment.  "  I  was  out  of  doors  nearly  all  the  time, 
as  ma  will  tell  you,"  she  said  to  her  husband, 
"  and  always  alone.  I  am  getting  quite  inde 
pendent  now,"  she  added  gayly.  "  I  don't  want 


MR.   JOHN   OAKHUKST.  63 

any  escort.  I  believe,  Joey  dear,  I  could  get 
along  even  without  you,  I'm  so  brave  ! " 

But  her  visit,  apparently,  had  not  been  pro 
ductive  of  her  impelling  design.  Mr.  Ham  ilton 
had  not  gone,  but  had  remained,  and  called  upon 
them  that  Very  evening.  "I've  thought  of  a 
plan,  Joey  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Decker,  when  he  had 
departed.  "  Poor  Mr.  Oakhurst  has  a  miserable 
room  at  the  hotel.  Suppose  you  ask  him,  when 
he  returns  from  San  Francisco,  to  stop  with  us. 
He  can  hare  our  spare-room.  I  don't  think," 
she  added  archly,  "  that  Mr.  Hamilton  will  call 
often."  Her  husband  laughed,  intimated  that 
she  was  a  little  coquette,  pinched  her  cheek,  and 
complied.  "  The  queer  thing  about  a  woman," 
he  said  afterward  confidentially  to  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst,  "  is,  that,  without  having  any  plan  of  her 
own,  she'll  take  anybody's,  and  build  a  house 
on  it  entirely  different  to  suit  herself.  And 
dern  my  skin  if  you'll  be  able  to  say  whether  or 
not  you  didn't  give  the  scale  and  measurements 
yourself !  That's  what  gets  me ! " 

The  next  week  Mr.  Oakhurst  was  installed  in 
the  Deckers'  cottage.  The  business  relations  of 
her  husband  and  himself  were  known  to  all,  and 
her  own  reputation  was  above  suspicion.  In 
deed,  few  women  were  more  popular.  She  was 
domestic,  she  was  prudent,  she  was  pious.  In  a 
country  of  great  feminine  freedom  and  latitude, 


64  MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST. 

she  never  rode  or  walked  with  anybody  but  he* 
husband.  In  an  epoch  of  slang  and  ambiguous 
expression,  she  was  always  precise  and  formal 
in  her  speech.  In  .the  midst  of  a  fashion  of  os 
tentatious  decoration,  she  never  wore  a  diamond, 
nor  a  single  valuable  jewel.  She  never  per 
mitted  an  indecorum  in  public.  She  never  coun 
tenanced  the  familiarities  of  California  society. 
She  declaimed  against  the  prevailing  tone  of 
infidelity  and  scepticism  in  religion.  Few  peo 
ple  who  were  present  will  ever  forget  the  dig 
nified  yet  stately  manner  with  which  she 
rebuked  Mr.  Hamilton  in  the  public  parlor  for 
entering  upon  the  discussion  of  a  work  on  ma 
terialism,  lately  published;  and  some  among 
them,  also,  will  not  forget  the  expression  of 
amused  surprise  on  Mr.  Hamilton's  face,  that 
gradually  changed  to  sardonic  gravity,  as  he 
courteously  waived  his  point ;  certainly  not  Mr. 
Oakhurst,  who,  from  that  moment,  began  to  be 
uneasily  impatient  of  his  friend,  and  even  —  if 
such  a  term  could  be  applied  to  any  moral  quali 
ty  in  Mr.  Oakhurst  —  to  fear  him. 

For  during  this  time  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  begun 
to  show  symptoms  of  a  change  in  his  usual 
habits.  He  was  seldom,  if  ever,  seen  in  his  old 
haunts,  in  a  bar-room,  or  with  his  old  associates. 
Pink  and  white  notes,  in  distracted  handwriting, 
accumulated  on  the  dressing-table  in  his  rooms 


MR.   JOHN   OAKHUEST.  65 

at  Sacramento.  It  was  given  out  in  San  Fran 
cisco  that  he  had  some  organic  disease  of  the 
heart,  for  which  his  physician  had  prescribed 
perfect  rest.  He  read  more ;  he  took  long  walks ; 
he  sold  his  fast  horses ;  he  went  to  church. 

I  have  a  very  vivid  recollection  of  his  first 
appearance  there.  He  did  not  accompany  the 
Deckers,  nor  did  he  go  into  their  pew,  but  came 
in  as  the  service  commenced,  and  took  a  seat 
quietly  in  one  of  the  back-pews.  By  some  mys 
terious  instinct,  his  presence  became  presently 
known  to  the  congregation,  some  of  whom  so  far 
forgot  themselves,  in  their  curiosity,  as  to  face 
around,  and  apparently  address  their  responses 
to  him.  Before  the  service  was  over,  it  was 
pretty  well  understood  that  "  miserable  sinners  " 
meant  Mr.  Oakhurst.  Nor  did  this  mysterious 
influence  fail  to  affect  the  officiating  clergyman, 
who  introduced  an  allusion  to  Mr.  Oakhurst's 
calling  and  habits  in  a  sermon  on  the  architec 
ture  of  Solomon's  temple,  and  in  a  manner  so 
pointed,  and  yet  labored,  as  to  cause  the 
youngest  of  us  to  flame  with  indignation.  Hap 
pily,  however,  it  was  lost  upon  Jack :  I  do  not 
think  he  even  heard  it.  His  handsome,  colorless 
face,  albeit  a  trifle  worn  and  thoughtful,  was 
inscrutable.  Only  once,  during  the  singing  of  a 
hymn,  at  a  certain  note  in  the  contralto's  voice, 
there  crept  into  his  dark  eyes  a  look  of  wistful 


66  MR.   JOHN   OAKHUEST. 

tenderness,  so  yearning  and  yet  so  hopeless,  that 
those  who  were  watching  him  felt  their  own 
glisten.  Yet  I  retain  a  very  vivid  remembrance 
of""  his  standing  up  to  receive  the  benediction, 
with  the  suggestion,  in  his  manner  and  tightly- 
buttoned  coat,  of  taking  the  fire  of  his  adver 
sary  at  ten  paces.  After  church,  he  disappeared 
as  quietly  as  he  had  entered,  and  fortunately 
escaped  hearing  the  comments  on  his  rash  act. 
His  appearance  was  generally  considered  as  an 
impertinence,  attributable  only  to  some  wanton 
fancy,  or  possibly  a  bet.  One  or  two  thought 
that  the  sexton  was  exceedingly  remiss  in  not 
turning  him  out  after  discovering  who  he  was  ; 
and  a  prominent  pew-holder  remarked,  that  if  he 
couldn't  take  his  wife  and  daughters  to  that 
church,  without  exposing  them  to  such  an  influ 
ence,  he  would  try  to  find  some  church  where 
he  could.  Another  traced  Mr.  Oakhurst's  pres 
ence  to  certain  Broad  Church  radical  tendencies, 
which  he  regretted  to  say  he  had  lately  noted 
in  their  pastor.  Deacon  Sawyer,  whose  deli 
cately-organized,  sickly  wife  had  already  borne 
him  eleven  children,  and  died  in  an  ambitious 
attempt  to  complete  the  dozen,  avowed  that  the 
presence  of  a  person  of  Mr.  Oakhurst's  various 
and  indiscriminate  gallantries  was  an  insult  to 
the  memory  of  the  deceased,  that,  as  a  man,  he 
could  not  brook. 


MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST.  67 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Oakhurst, 
contrasting  himself  with  a  conventional  world 
in  which  he  had  hitherto  rarely  mingled,  became 
aware  that  there  was  something  in  his  face, 
figure,  and  carriage  quite  unlike  other  men,  — 
something,  that,  if  it  did  not  betray  his  former 
career,  at  least  showed  an  individuality  and 
originality  that  was  suspicious.  In  this  belief, 
he  shaved  off  his  long,  silken  mustache,  and 
religiously  brushed  out  his  clustering  curls  every 
morning.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  affect  a 
negligence  of  dress,  and  hid  his  small,  slim, 
arched  feet  in  the  largest  and  heaviest  walking- 
shoes.  There  is  a  story  told  that  he  went  to  his 
tailor  in  Sacramento,  and  asked  him  to  make 
him  a  suit  of  clothes  like  everybody  else.  The 
tailor,  familiar  with  Mr.  Oakhurst's  fastidious 
ness,  did  not  know  what  he  meant.  "  I  mean," 
said  Mr.  Oakhurst  savagely,  "  something  respect 
able, —  something  that  doesn't  exactly  fit  me, 
you  know."  But,  however  Mr.  Oakhurst  might. 
hide  his  shapely  limbs  in  homespun  and  home 
made  garments,  there  was  something  in  his  car 
riage,  something  in  the  pose  of  his  beautiful 
head,  something  in  the  strong  and  fine  manli 
ness  of  his  presence,  something  in  the  perfect 
and  utter  discipline  and  control  of  his  muscles, 
something  in  the  high  repose  of  his  nature,  —  a 
repose  not  so  much  a  matter  of  intellectual  rul- 


68  MR.   JOHN  OAKHURST. 

ing  as  of  his  very  nature,  —  that,  go  where  he 
would,  and  with  whom,  he  was  always  a  notable 
man  in  ten  thousand.  Perhaps  this  was  never 
so  clearly  intimated  to  Mr.  Oakhurst,  as  when, 
emboldened  by  Mr.  Hamilton's  adviee  and  as 
sistance,  and  his  own  predilections,  he  .became  a 
San-Francisco  broker.  Even  before  objection 
was  made  to  his  presence  in  the  Board,  —  the  ob 
jection,  I  remember,  was  urged  very  eloquently 
by  Watt  Sanders,  who  was  supposed  to  be  the 
inventor  of  the  "  freezing-out "  system  of  dis 
posing  of  poor  stockholders,  and  who  also  1 
enjoyed  the  reputation  of  "having  been  the  im 
pelling  cause  of  Briggs  of  Tuolumne's  ruin  and 
suicide,  —  even  before  this  formal  protest  of 
respectability  against  lawlessness,  the  aquiline 
suggestions  of  Mr.  Oakhurst's  mien  and  counte*- 
nance,  not  only  prematurely  flutterea  ^Ehe 
pigeons,  but  absolutely  occasioned  much  uneasi 
ness  among  the  fish-hawks  who  circled  below 
him  with  their  booty.  "  Dash  me  !  but  he's  as 
likely  to  go  after  us  as  anybody,"  said  Joe 
Fielding. 

It  wanted  but  a  few  days  before  the  close  of 
the  brief  summer  season  at  San  Isabel  Warm 
Springs.  -Already  there  had  been  some  migra 
tion  of  the  more  fashionable  ;  and  there  was  an 
uncomfortable  suggestion  of  dregs  and  Ices  in 


Mil.    JOHN    OAKHURST.  69 

the  social  life  that  remained.  Mr.  Oakhurst 
was  moody.  It  was  hinted  that  even  the  secure 
reputation  of  Mrs.  Decker  could  no  longer  pro 
tect  her  from  the  gossip  which  his  presence 
excited.  It  is  but  fair  to  her  to  say,  that,  during 
the  last  few  weeks  of  this  trying  ordeal,  she 
looked  like  a  sweet,  pale  martyr,  and  conducted 
herself  toward  her  traducers  with  the  gentle, 
forgiving  manner  of  one  who  relied  not  upon 
the  idle  homage  of  the  crowd,  but  upon  the 
security  of  a  principle  that  was  dearer  than 
popular  favor.  "  They  talk  about  myself  and 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  my  dear,"  she  said  to  a  friend ; 
"  but  heaven  and  my  husband  can  best  answer 
their  calumny.  It  never  shall  be  said  that  my 
husband  ever  turned  his  back  upon  a  friend  in 
the  moment  of  his  adversity,  because  the  posi 
tion*  was  changed,  — because  his  friend  was  poor, 
and  he  was  rich."  This  was  the  first  intimation 
to  the  public  that  Jack  had  lost  money,  although 
it  was  known  generally  that  the  Deckers  had 
lately  bouglit  some  valuable  property  in  San 
Francisco. 

A  few  evenings  after  this,  an  incident  occurred 
which  seemed  to  unpleasantly  discord  with  the 
general  social  harmony  that  had  always  existed 
at  San  Isabel.  It  was  at  dinner  ;  and  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst  and  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  sat  together  at  a 
separate  table,  were  observed  to  r^se  in  some 


0  MR.   JOHN   OAKHUEST. 


Agitation.  When  they  reached  the  hall,  by  a 
common  instinct  they  stepped  into  a  little 
breakfast-room  which  was  vacant,  and  closed 
the  door.  Then  Mr.  Hamilton  turned  with  a 
half-amused,  half-serious  smile  toward  his  friend, 
and  said,  — 

"  If  we  are  to  quarrel,  Jack  Oakhurst,  —  you 
and  I,  —  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  ridiculous, 
don't  let  it  be  about  a  "  — 

I  do  not  know  what  was  the  epithet  intended. 
It  was  either  unspoken  or  lost ;  for  at  that  very 
instant  Mr.  Oakhurst  raised  a  wineglass,  and 
dashed  its  contents  into  Hamilton's  face. 

As  they  faced  each  other,  the  men  seemed  to 
have  changed  natures.  Mr.  Oakhurst  was 
trembling  with  excitement,  and  the  wineglass 
that  he  returned  to  the  table  shivered  between 
his  fingers.  Mr.  Hamilton  stood  there,  grayish 
white,  erect,  and  dripping.  After  a  pause,  he 
said  coldly,  — 

"  So  be  it.  But  remember,  our  quarrel 
commences  here.  If  I  fall  by  your  hand,  you 
shall  not  use  it  to  clear  her  character :  if  you 
fall  by  mine,  you  shall  not  be  called  a  martyr. 
I  am  sorry  it  has  come  to  this ;  but  amen,  the 
sooner  now,  the  better." 

He  turned  proudly,  dropped  his  lids  over  his 
cold  steel-blue  eyes,  as  if  sheathing  a  rapier, 
bowed,  and  passed  coldly  out. 


MB.    JOHN   OAKHUK&T.  71 

They  met,  twelve  hours  later,  in  a  little  hol 
low  two  miles  fron\  the  hotel,  on  the  Stockton* 
road.  As  Mr.  Oakhurst  received  his  pistol 
from  Col.  StarbottleV  hands,  he  said  to  him  in  a 
low  voice,  "  Whatever  turns  up  or  down,  I  shall 
not  return  to  the  hotel,  You  will  find  some 
directions  in  my  room.  Go  there "  —  But 
his  voice  suddenly  faltered,  and  he  turned  his 
glistening  eyes  away,  to  his  second's  intense  as 
tonishment.  "  I've  been  out  a  dozen  times  with 
Jack  Oakhurst,"  said  Col.  Starbottle  afterward, 
"  and  I  never  saw  him  anyways  cut  before. 
Blank  me  if  I  didn't  think  he  was  losing  his 
sand,  till  he  walked  to  position." 

The  two  reports  were  almost  simultaneous. 
Mr.  Oakhurst's  right  arm  dropped  suddenly  to 
his  side,  and  his  pistol  would  have  fallen  from 
his  paralyzed  fingers ;  but  the  discipline  of 
trained  nerve  and  muscle  prevailed,  and  he  kept 
his  grasp  until  he  had  shifted  it  to  the  other 
hand,  without  changing  his  position.  Then 
there  was  a  silence  that  seemed  interminable,  a 
gathering  of  two  or  three  dark  figures  where  a 
smoke-curl  still  lazily  floated,  and  then  the  hur 
ried,  husky,  panting  voice  of  Col.  Starbottle  in 
his  ear,  "  He's  hit  hard  —  through  the  lungs  — 
you  must  run  for  it !  " 

Jack  turned  his  dark,  questioning  eyes  upon 
his  second,  but  did  not  seem  to  listen,  — •  rather 


72  MR.   JOHN   OAKHUEST. 

seemed  to  hear  some  other  voice,  remoter  in 
the  distance.  He  hesitated,  and  then  made 
a  step  forward  in  the  direction  of  the  distant 
group.  Then  he  paused  again  as  the  figures 
separated,  and  the  surgeon  came  hastily  toward 
him. 

"  He  would  like  to  speak  with  you  a  moment," 
said  the  man.  "  You  have  little  time  to  lose,  I 
know  ;  but,"  he  added  in  a  lower  voice,  "  it  is 
my  duty  to  tell  you  he  has  still  less." 

A  look  of  despair,  so  hopeless  in  its  intensity, 
swept  over  Mr.  Oakhurst's  usually  impassive 
face,  that  the  surgeon  started.  "  You  are  hit," 
he  said,  glancing  at  Jack's  helpless  arm. 

"  Nothing  —  a  mere  scratch,"  said  Jack  has 
tily.  Then  he  added  with  a  bitter  laugh,  "  I'm 
not  in  luck  to-day.  But  come  :  we'll  see  what 
he  wants." 

His  long,  feverish  stride  outstripped  the  sur 
geon's  ;  and  in  another  moment  he  stood  where 
the  dying  man  lay,  —  like  most  dying  men,  — 
the  one  calm,  composed,  central  figure  of  an 
anxious  group.  Mr.  Oakhurst's  face  was  less 
calm  as  he  dropped  on  one  knee  beside  him,  and 
took  his  hand.  "  I  want  to  speak  with  this 
gentleman  alone,"  said  Hamilton,  with  some 
thing  of  his  old  imperious  manner,  as  he  turned 
to  those  about  him.  When  they  drew  back,  he 
looked  up  in  Oakhurst's  face. 


MR.   JOHN   OAKHTJRST.  73 

"  I've  something  to  tell  you,  Jack." 

His  own  face  was  white,  but  not  so  white  as 
that  which  Mr.  Oakhurst  bent  over  him,  —  a  face 
so  ghastly,  with  haunting  doubts,  and  a  hopeless 
presentiment  of  coming  evil,  —  a  face  so  piteous 
in  its  infinite  weariness  and  envy  of  death,  that 
the  dying  man  was  touched,  even  in  the  languor 
of  dissolution,  with  a  pang  of  compassion ;  and 
the  cynical  smile  faded  from  his  lips. 

"  Forgive  me,  Jack,"  he  whispered  more 
feebly,  "'for  what  I  have  to  say.  I  don't  say  it 
in  anger,  but  only  because  it  must  be  said.  I 
could  not  do  my  duty  to  you,  I  could  not  die 
contented,  until  you  knew  it  all.  It's  a  miserable 
business  at  best,  all  around.  But  it  can't  be 
helped  now.  Only  I  ought  to  have  fallen  by 
Decker's  pistol,  and  not  yours." 

A  flush  like  fire  %came  into  Jack's  cheek,  and 
he  would  have  risen ;  but  Hamilton  held  him 
fast. 

"  Listen !  In  my  pocket  you  will  find  two 
letters.  Take  them  —  there  !  You  will  know 
the  handwriting.  But  promise  you  will  not 
read  them  until  you  are  in  a  place  of  safety. 
Promise  me." 

Jack  did  not  speak,  but  held  the  letters  be 
tween  his  fingers  as  if  they  had  been  burning 
coals. 

"  Promise  me,"  said  Hamilton  faintly. 


74  MR.   JOHN   OAKHURST. 

"  Why  ? "  asked  O'akhurst,  dropping  his 
friend's  hand  coldly. 

"  Because,"  said  the  dying  man  with  a  bitter 
smile,  —  "  because  —  when  you  have  read  them 
—  you  —  will  —  go  back  —  to  capture  —  and 
death ! " 

They  were  his  last  words.  He  pressed  Jack's 
hand  faintly.  Then  his  grasp  relaxed,  and  lie 
Tell  back  a  corpse. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  Mrs. 
Decker  reclined  languidly  upon  the  sofa  with  a 
novel  in  her  hand,  while  her  husband  discussed 
the  politics  of  the  country  in  the  bar-room  of 
the  hotel.  It  was  a  warm  night;  and  the  French 
window  looking  out  upon  a  little  balcony  was 
partly  open.  Suddenly  she  heard  a  foot  upon 
the  balcony,  and  she  raised  her  eyes  from  the 
book  with  a  slight  start.  The  next  moment  the 
window  was  hurriedly  thrust  wide,  and  a  man 
entered. 

Mrs.  Decker  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  little  cry 
of  alarm. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Jack,  are  you  mad  ? 
He  has  only  gone  for  a  little  while  —  he  may 
return  at  any  moment.  Come  an  hour  later, 
to-morrow,  any  time  when  I  can  get  rid  of 
him — but  go,  now,  dear,  at  once." 

Mr.  Oakhurst  walked  toward  the  door,  bolted 
it,  and  then  faced  her  without  a  word.  His  face 


MR.   JOHN   OAKHURST.  75 

was  haggard  ;  his  coat-sleeve  hung  loosely  over 
an  arm  that  was  bandaged  and  bloody. 

Nevertheless  her  voice  did  not  falter  as  she 
turned  again  toward  him.  "  What  has  hap 
pened,  Jack.  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

He  opened  his  coat,  and  threw  two  letters  in 
her  lap. 

"  To  return  your  lover's  letters  ;  to  kill  you 
—  and  then  myself,"  he  said  in  a  voice  so  low 
as  to  be  almost  inaudible. 

Among  the  many  virtues  of  this  admirable 
woman  was  invincible  courage.  She  did  not 
faint;  she  did  not  cry  out;  she  sat  quietly 
down  again,  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
said  calmly,  — 

"  And  why  should  you  not  ?  " 

Had  she  recoiled,  had  she  shown  any  fear  or 
contrition,  had  she  essayed  an  explanation  or 
apology,  Mr.  Oakhurst  would  have  looked  upon 
it  as  an  evidence  of  guilt.  But  there  is  no 
quality  that  courage  recognizes  so  quickly  as 
courage.  There  is  no  condition  that  despera 
tion  bows  before  but  desperation.  And  Mr. 
Oakhurst's  power  of  analysis  was  not  so  keen  as 
to  prevent  him  from  confounding  her  courage 
with  a  moral  quality.  Even  in  his  fury,  he  could 
not  help  admiring  this  dauntless  invalid. 

"Why  should  you  not?"  she  repeated  with 
a  smile.  "  You  gave  me  life,  health,  and  happi- 


76  MB.   JOHN   OAKFIURST. 

ness,  Jack.  You  gave  me  your  love.  Why 
should  you  not  take  what  you  have  given  ?  Go 
on.  I  am  ready." 

She  held  out  her  hands  with  that  same  infi 
nite  grace  of  yielding  with  which  she  had  taken 
his  own  on  the  first  day  of  their  meeting  at  the 
hotel.  Jack  raised  his  head,  looked  at  her  for 
one  wild  moment,  dropped  upon  his  knees  be 
side  her,  and  raised  the  folds  of  her  dress  to  his 
feverish  lips.  But  she  was  too  clever  not  to 
instantly  see  her  victory:  she  was  too  much 
of  a  woman,  with  all  her  cleverness,  to  refrain 
from  pressing  that  victory  home.  At  the  same 
moment,  as  with  the  impulse  of  an  outraged 
and  wounded  woman,  she  rose,  and,  Avith  an  im 
perious  gesture,  pointed  to  the  window.  Mr. 
Oakhurst  rose  in  his  turn,  cast  one  glance  upon 
her,  and  without  another  word  passed  out  of 
her  presence  forever. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  closed  the  window 
and  bolted  it,  and,  going  to  the  chimney-piece, 
placed  the  letters,  one  by  one,  in  the  flame  of 
the  candle  until  they  were  consumed.  I  would 
not  have  the  reader  think,  that,  during  this 
painful  operation,  she  was  unmoved.  Her  hand 
trembled,  and  —  not  being  a  brute  —  for  some 
minutes  (perhaps  longer)  she  felt  very  badly, 
and  the  corners  of  her  sensitive  mouth  were 
depressed.  When  her  husband  arrived,  it  was 


MR.    JOHN   OAKHUKST.  7? 

with  a  genuine  joy  that  she  ran  to  him,  and 
nestled  against  his  broad  breast  with  a  feeling 
of  security  that  thrilled  the  honest  fellow  to 
the  core. 

"  But  I've  heard  dreadful  news  to-night, 
Elsie,"  said  Mr.  Decker,  after  a  few  endearments 
were  exchanged. 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  thing  dreadful,  dear:  I'm 
not  well  to-night,"  she  pleaded  sweetly. 

"  But  it's  about  Mr.  Oakhurst  and  Hamilton." 

"  Please  !  "  Mr.  Decker  could  not  resist  the 
petitionary  grace  of  those  white  hands  and  that 
sensitive  mouth,  and  took  her  to  his  arms. 
Suddenly  he  said,  "  What's  that  ?  " 

He  was  pointing  to  the  bosom  of  her  white 
dress.  Where  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  touched  her, 
there  was  a  spot  of  blood. 

It  was  nothing :  she  had  slightly  cut  her  hand 
in  closing  the  window ;  it  shut  so  hard !  If 
Mr.  Decker  had  remembered  to  close  and  bolt 
the  shutter  before  he  went  out,  he  might  have 
saved  her  this.  There  was  such  a  genuine  irri 
tability  and  force  in  this  remark,  that  Mr. 
Decker  was  quite  overcome  by  remorse.  But 
Mrs.  Decker  forgave  him  with  that  graciousness 
which  I  have  before  pointed  out  in  these  pages. 
And  with  the  halo  of  that  forgiveness  and  mari 
tal  confidence  still  lingering  above  the  pair,  with 
the  reader's  permission  we  will  leave  them,  and 
return  to  Mr.  Oakhurst. 


78  ME.    JOHN   OAKHUBST. 

But  not  for  two  weeks.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  he  walked  into  his  rooms  in  Sacramento, 
and  in  his  old  manner  took  his  seat  at  the  faro- 
table. 

"  How's  your  arm,  Jack  ? "  asked  an  incau 
tious  player. 

There  was  a  smile  followed  the  question, 
which,  however,  ceased  as  Jack  looked  up 
quietly  at  the  speaker. 

"It  bothers  my  dealing  a  little;  but  I  can 
shoot  as  well  with  my  left." 

The  game  was  continued  in  that  decorous 
silence  which  usually  distinguished  the  table  at 
which  Mr.  John  Oakhurst  presided. 


WAN  LEE,  THE  PAGAN. 

AS  I  opened  Hop  Sing's  letter,  there  flut 
tered  to  the  ground  a  square  strip  of  yel 
low  paper  covered  with  hieroglyphics,  which,  at 
first  glance,  I  innocently  took  to  be  the  label 
from  a  pack  of  Chinese  fire-crackers.  But  the 
same  envelope  also  contained  a  smaller  strip  of 
rice-paper,  with  two  Chinese  characters  traced 
in  India  ink,  that  I  at  once  knew  to  be  Hop 
-Sing's  visiting-card.  The  whole,  as  afterwards 
literally  translated,  ran  as  follows :  — 

' '  To  the  stranger  the  gates   of    my  house  are  not 
closed  :   the  rice-jar  is  on  the  left,  and  the 
sweetmeats  on  the  right,  as  you  enter. 
Two  sayings  of  the  Master  :  — 

Hospitality  is  the  virtue  of  the  son  and  the 
wisdom  of  the  ancestor. 
The  Superior  man  is  light  hearted  after  the 
crop-gathering  :    he  makes  a  festival. 
When    the    stranger    is    in    your    melon -patch,   ob 
serve  him  not  too    closely  :    inattention  is  often 
the  highest  form  of  civility. 

Happiness,  Peace,  and  Prosperity. 

HOP  SING." 
79 


80  WAN  LEE,    THE  PAGAN. 

Admirable,  certainly,  as  was  this  morality  and 
proverbial  wisdom,  and  although  this  last  axiom 
was  very  characteristic  of  my  friend  Hop  Sing, 
who  was  that  most  sombre  of  all  humorists,  a 
Chinese  philosopher,  I  must  confess,  that,  3'ven 
after  a  very  free  translation,  I  was  at  a  loss  to 
make  any  immediate  application  of  the  message. 
Lucidly  I  discovered  a  third  enclosure  in  the 
shape  of  a  little  note  in  English,  and  Hop  Sing's 
own  commercial  hand.  It  ran  thus :  — 

"  The  pleasure  of  your  company  is  requested  at  No.  — 
Sacramento  Street,  on  Friday  evening  at  eight  o'clock. 
A  cup  of  tea  at  nine,  — sharp. 

"Hop  SING." 

This  explained  all.  It  meant  a  visit  to  Hop 
Sing's  warehouse,  the  opening  and  exhibition^of 
some  rare  Chinese  novelties  and  curios,  a  chat 
in  the  back  office,  a  cup  of  tea  of  a  perfection 
unknown  beyond  these  sacred  precincts,  cigars, 
and  a  visit  to  the  Chinese  theatre  or  temple. 
This  was,  in  fact,  the  favorite  programme  of  Hop 
Sing  when  he  exercised  his  functions  of  hospi 
tality  as  the  chief  factor  or  superintendent  of 
the  Ning  Foo  Company. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  Friday  evening,  I  entered 
the  warehouse  of  Hop  Sing.  There  was  that 
deliciously  commingled  mysterious  foreign  odor 
that  I  had  so  often  noticed ;  there  was  the  old 


WAN   LEE,    THE   PAGAN.  81 

array  of  uncouth-looking  objects,  the  long  pro 
cession  of  jars  and  crockery,  the  same  singular 
blending  of  the  grotesque  and  the  mathemati-  \ 
cally  neat  and  exact,  the  same  endless  sugges 
tions  of  frivolity  and  fragility,  the  same  want 
of  harmony  in  colors,  that  were  each,  in  them 
selves,  beautiful  and  rare.  Kites  in  the  shape 
of  enormous  dragons  and  gigantic  butterflies ; 
kites  so  ingeniously  arranged  as  to  utter  at  inter 
vals,  when  facing  the  wind,  the  cry  of  a  hawk ; 
kites  so  large  as  to  be  beyond  any  boy's  power 
of  restraint,  — so  large  that  you  understood  why 
kite-flying  in  China  was  an  amusement  for 
adults ;  gods  of  china  and  bronze  so  gratuitously 
ugly  as  to  be  beyond  any  human  interest  or 
sympathy  from  their  very  impossibility ;  jars  of 
sweetmeats  covered  all  over  with  moral  senti 
ments  from  Confucius ;  hats  that  looked  like 
baskets,  and  baskets  that  looked  like  hats ;  silks 
so  light  that  I  hesitate  to  record  the  incredible 
number  of  square  yards  that  you  might  pass 
through  the  ring  on  your  little  finger,  —  these, 
and  a  great  many  other  indescribable  objects, 
were  all  familiar  to  me.  I  pushed  my  way 
through  the  dimly-lighted  warehouse,  until  I 
reached  the  back  office,  or  parlor,  where  I  found 
Hop  Sing  waiting  to  receive  me. 

Before    I   describe  him,  I  want  the  average 
reader  to  discharge  from  his  mind  any  idea  of  a 


82  WAN  LEE,   THE   PAGAN. 

Chinaman  that  he  may  have  gathered  from  the 
pantomime.  He  did  not  wear  beautifully  scal 
loped  drawers  fringed  with  little  bells  (I 
never  met  a  Chinaman  who  did)  ;  he  did  not 
habitually  carry  his  forefinger  extended  before 
him  at  right  angles  with  his  body ;  nor  did  I 
ever  hear  him  utter  the  mysterious  sentence, 
"  Ching  a  ring  a  ring  chaw ;  "  nor  dance  under 
any  provocation.  He  was,  on  the  whole,  a 
rather  grave,  decorous,  handsome  gentleman. 
His  complexion,  which  extended  all  over  his 
head,  except  where  his  long  pig-tail  grew,  was 
like  a  very  nice  piece  of  glazed  brown  paper- 
muslin.  His  eyes  were  black  and  bright,  and 
his  eyelids  set  at  an  angle  of  fifteen  degrees ; 
his  nose  straight,  and  delicately  formed;  his 
mouth  small;  and  his  teeth  white  and  clean. 
He  wore  a  dark  blue  silk  blouse ;  and  in  the 
streets,  on  cold  days,  a  short  jacket  of  astrachan 
fur.  He  wore,  also,  a  pair  of  drawers  of  blue 
brocade  gathered  tightly  over  his  calves  and 
ankles,  offering  a  general  sort  of  suggestion,  that 
he  had  forgotten  his  trousers  that  'morning,  but 
that,  so  gentlemanly  were  his  manners,  his 
friends  had  forborne  to  mention  the  fact  to  him. 
His  manner  was  urbane,  although  quite  serious. 
He  spoke  French  and  English  fluently.  In 
brief,  I  doubt  if  you  could  have  found  the  equal 
of  this  Pagan  shopkeeper  among  the  Christian 
traders  of  San  Francisco. 


WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN.  83 

There  were  a  few  others  present,  —  a  judge  of 
the  Federal  Court,  an  editor,  a  high  government 
official,  and  a  prominent  merchant.  After  we 
had  drunk  our  tea,  and  tasted  a  few  sweetmeats 
from  a  mysterious  jar,  that  looked  as  if  it  might 
contain  a  preserved  mouse  among  its  other  non 
descript  treasures,  Hop  Sing  arose,  and,  gravely 
beckoning  us  to  follow  him,  began  to  descend 
to  the  basement.  When  we  got  there,  we  were 
amazed  at  finding  it  brilliantly  lighted,  and  that 
a  number  of  chairs  were  arranged  in  a  half- 
circle  on  the  asphalt  pavement.  When  he  had 
courteously  seated  us,  he  said,  — 

"  I  have  invited  you  to  witness  a  performance 
which  I  can  at  least  promise  you  no  other  for 
eigners  but  yourselves  have  ever  seen.  Wang, 
the  court-juggler,  arrived  here  yesterday  morn 
ing.  He  has  never  given  a  performance  outside 
of  the  palace  before.  I  have  asked  him  to  enter 
tain  my  friends  this  evening.  He  requires  no 
theatre,  stage  accessories,  or  any  confederate,  — 
nothing  more  than  you  see  here.  Will  you  be 
pleased  to  examine  the  ground  yourselves,  gen 
tlemen." 

Of  course  we  examined  the  premises.  It  was 
the  ordinary  basement  or  cellar  of  the  San- 
Francisco  storehouse,  cemented  to  keep  out  the 
damp.  We  poked  our  sticks  into  the  pavement, 
and  rapped  on  the  walls,  to  satisfy  our  polite 


84  WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN. 

host  —  but  for  no  other  purpose.  We  were  quite 
content  to  be  the  victims  of  any  clever  decep 
tion.  For  myself,  I  knew  I  was  ready  to  be 
deluded  to  any  extent,  and,  if  I  had  been  offered 
an  explanation  of  what  followed,  I  should  have 
probably  declined  it. 

Although  I  am  satisfied  that  Wang's  general 
performance  was  the  first  of  that  kind  ever 
given  on  American  soil,  it  has,  probably,  since 
become  so  familiar  to  many  of  my  readers,  that 
I  shall  not  bore  them  with  it  here.  He  began 
by  setting  to  flight,  with  the  aid  of  his  fan,  the 
usual  number  of  butterflies,  made  before  our 
eyes  of  little  bits  of  tissue-paper,  and  kept  them 
in  the  air  during  the  remainder  of  the  perform 
ance.  I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  judge 
trying  to  catch  one  that  had  lit  on  his  knee,  and 
of  its  evading  him  with  the  pertinacity  of  a  liv 
ing  insect.  And,  even  at  this  time,  Wang,  still 
plying  his  fan,  was  taking  chickens  out  of  hats, 
making  oranges  disappear,  pulling  endless  yards 
of  silk  from  his  sleeve,  apparently  filling  the 
whole  area  of  the  basement  with  goods  that 
appeared  mysteriously  from  the  ground,  from 
his  own  sleeves,  from  nowhere  !  He  swallowed 
knives  to  the  ruin  of  his  digestion  for  years  to 
come ;  he  dislocated  every  limb  of  his  body ;  he 
reclined  in  the  air,  apparently  upon  nothing. 
But  his  crowning  performance,  which  I  have 


WAN   LEE,   THE  PAGAN.  85 

never  yet  seen  repeated,  was  the  most  weird, 
mysterious,  and  astounding.  It  is  my  apology 
for  this  long  introduction,  my  sole  excuse  for 
writing  this  article,  and  the  genesis  of  this 
veracious  history. 

He  cleared  the  ground  of  its  encumbering 
articles  for  a  space  of  about  fifteen  feet  square, 
and  then  invited  us  all  to  walk  forward,  and 
again  examine  it.  We  did  so  gravely.  There 
was  nothing  but  the  cemented  pavement  below 
to  be  seen  or  felt.  He  then  asked  for  the  loan 
of  a  handkerchief ;  and,  as  I  chanced  to  be  near 
est  him,  I  offered  mine.  He  took  it,  and  spread 
it  open  upon  the  floor.  Over  this  he  spread  a 
large  square  of  silk,  and  over  this,  again,  a  large 
shawl  nearly  covering  the  space  he  had  cleared. 
He  then  took  a  position  at  one  of  the  points  of 
this  rectangle,  and  began  a  monotonous  chant, 
rocking  his  body  to  and  fro  in  time  with  the 
somewhat  lugubrious  air. 

We  sat  still  and  waited.  Above  the  chant 
we  could  hear  the  striking  of  the  city  clocks, 
and  the  occasional  rattle  of  a  cart  in  the  street 
overhead.  The  absolute  watchfulness  and  ex 
pectation,  the  dim,  mysterious  half-light  of  the 
cellar  falling  in  a  grewsome  way  upon  the  mis 
shapen  bulk  of  a  Chinese  deity  in  the  back 
ground,  a  faint  smell  of  opium-smoke  mingling 
with  spice,  and  the  dreadful  uncertainty  of  what 


86  WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN. 

we  were  really  waiting  for,  sent  an  uncomforta 
ble  thrill  down  our  backs,  and  made  us  look  at 
each,  other  with  a  forced  and  unnatural  smile. 
This  feeling  was  heightened  when  Hop  Sing 
slowly  rose,. and,  without  a  word,  pointed  with 
his  finger  to  the  centre  of  the  shawl. 

There  was  something  beneath  the  shawl 
Surely  —  and  something  that  was  not  there 
before ;  at  first  a  mere  suggestion  in  relief,  a 
faint  outline,  but  growing  more  and  more  dis 
tinct  and  visible  every  moment.  The  chant 
still  continued;  the  perspiration  began  to  roll 
from  the  singer's  face ;  gradually  the  hidden 
object  took  upon  itself  a  shape  and  bulk  that 
raised  the  shawl  in  its  centre  some  five  or  six 
inches.  It  was  now  unmistakably  the  outline 
of  a  small  but  perfect  human  figure,  with 
extended  arms  and  legs.  One  or  two  of  us 
turned  pale.  There  was  a  feeling  of  general 
uneasiness,  until  the  editor  broke  the  silence  by 
a  gibe,  that,  poor  as  it  was,  was  received  with 
spontaneous  enthusiasm.  Then  the  chant  sud 
denly  ceased.  Wang  arose,  and  with  a  quick, 
dexterous  movement,  stripped  both  shawl  and 
silk  away,  and  discovered,  sleeping  peacefully 
upon  my  handkerchief,  a  tiny  Chinese  baby. 

The  applause  and  uproar  which  followed  this 
revelation  ought  to  have  satisfied  Wang,  even 
if  his  audience  was  a  small  one :  it  was  loud 


WAN   LEE,   THE  PAGAN.  87 

enough  to  awaken  the  baby,  —  a  pretty  little 
boy  about  a  year  old,  looking  like  a  Cupid  cut 
out  of  sandal-wood.  He  was  whisked  away 
almost  as  mysteriously  as  he  appeared.  When 
Hop  Sing  returned  my  handkerchief  to  me  with 
a  bow,  I  asked  if  the  juggler  was  the  father  of 
the  baby.  "  No  sabe  !  "  said  the  imperturbable 
Hop  Sing,  taking  refuge  in  that  Spanish  form 
of  non-committalism  so  common  in  California. 

"  But  does  he  have  a  new  baby  for  every  per-' 
formance  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Perhaps :  who  knows  ?  " 
—  "  But  what  will  become  of  this  one  ?  "  — 
"  Whatever  you  choose,  gentlemen,"  replied 
Hop  Sing  with  a  courteous  inclination.  "  It  was 
born  here :  you  are  its  godfathers." 

There  were  two  characteristic  peculiarities  of 
any  Californian  assemblage  in  1856,  —  it  was 
quick  to  take  a  hint,  and  generous  to  the  point 
of  prodigality  in  its  response  to  any  charitable 
appeal.  No  matter  how  sordid  or  avaricious  the 
individual,  Jie  could  not  resist  the  infection  of 
sympathy.  I  doubled  the  points  of  my  hand 
kerchief  into  a  bag,  dropped  a  coin  into  it,  and, 
without  a  word,  passed  it  to  the  judge.  He 
quietly  added  a  twenty-dollar  gold-piece,  and 
passed  it  to  the  next.  When  it  was  returned  to 
me,  it  contained  over  a  hundred  dollars.  I 
knotted  the  money  in  the  handkerchief,  and 
gave  it  to  Hop  Sing. 


88  WAN  LEE,   THE   PAGAN. 

"  For  the  baby,  from  its  godfathers." 

*'  But  what  name  ?  "  said  the  judge.  There 
was  a  running  fire  of  "  Erebus,"  "  Nox,"  "  Plu- 
tus,"  "Terra  Gotta,"  "Antaeus,"  &c.  Finally 
the  question  was  referred  to  our  host. 

"Why  not  keep  his  own  name?"  he  said 
quietly,  —  "  Wan  Lee."  And  he  did. 

And  thus  was  Wan  Lee,  on  the  night  of 
Friday,  the  5th  of  March,  1856,  born  into  this 
veracious  chronicle. 

The  last  form  of  "  The  Northern  Star "  for 
the  19th  of  July,  1865,  —  the  only  daily  paper 
published  in  Klamath  County,  —  had  just  gone 
to  press ;  and  at  three,  A.M.,  I  was  putting  aside 
my  proofs  and  manuscripts,  preparatory  to  going 
home,  when  I  discovered  a  letter  lying  under 
some  sheets  of  paper,  which  I  must  have  over 
looked.  The  envelope  was  considerably  soiled : 
it  had  no  post-mark ;  but  I  had  no  difficulty  in 
recognizing  the  hand  of  my  friend  Kfop  Sing.  I 
opened  it  hurriedly,  and  read  as  follows :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  SIR,  — I  do  not  know  whether  the  bearer 
will  suit  you ;  but,  unless  the  office  of  '  devil '  in  your 
newspaper  is  a  purely  technical  one,  I  think  he  has  all 
the  qualities  required.  He  is  very  quick,  active,  and 
intelligent;  understands  English  better  than  he  speaks 
it;  and  makes  up  for  any  defect  by  his  habits  of  observa 
tion  and  imitation.  You  have  only  to  show  him  how  to 


TV  AX    LEE,    THE    PAGAN.  89 

do  a  thing  once,  and  he  will  repeat  it,  whether  it  is  an 
offence  or  a  virtue.  But  you  certainly  know  him  already. 
You  are  one  of  his  godfathers;  for  is  he  not  Wan  Lee,  the 
reputed  son  of  Wang  the  conjurer,  to  whose  perform-* 
ances  I  had  the  honor  to  introduce  you?  But  perhaps 
you  have  forgotten  it. 

"  I  shall  send  him  with  a  gang  of  coolies  to  Stockton, 
thence  by  express  to  your  town.  If  you  can  use  him 
theie,  you  will  do  me  a  favor,  and  probably  save  his  life, 
which  is  at  present  in  great  peril  from  the  hands  of  the 
younger  members  of  your  Christian  and  highly-civilized 
race  who  attend  the  enlightened  schools  in  San  Francisco. 

"  He  has  acquired  some  singular  habits  and  customs 
from  his  experience  of  Wang's  profession,  which  he  fol 
lowed  for  some  years,  — until  he  became  too  large  to  go 
in  a  hat,  or  be  produced  from  his  father's  sleeve.  The 
money  you  left  with  me  has  been  expended  on  his  educa 
tion.  He  has  gone  through  the  Tri-literal  Classics,  but,  I 
think,  without  much  benefit.  He  knows  but  little  of 
Confucius,  and  absolutely  nothing  of  Mencius.  Owing 
to  the  negligence  of  his  father,  he  associated,  perhaps, 
too  much  with  American  children. 

"I  should  have  answered  your  letter  before,  by  post; 
but  I  thought  that  Wan  Lee  himself  would  be  a  better 
messenger  for  this. 

"Yours  respectfully, 

"  HOP  SIXG." 

And  this  was  the  long-delayed  answer  to  my 
letter  to  Hop  Sing.  But  where  was  "  the  bear 
er  "  ?  How  was  the  letter  delivered  ?  I  sum 
moned  hastily  the  foreman,  printers,  and  office- 
boy,  but  without  eliciting  any  thing.  No  one 


90  WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN. 

had  seen  the  letter  delivered,  nor  knew  any 
thing  of  the  bearer.  A  few  days  later,  I  had 
a  visit  from  my  laundry-man,  Ah  Ri. 

"You  wantee  debbil?  All  lightee:  me 
eatchee  him." 

He  returned  in  a  few  moments  with  a  bright- 
looking  Chinese  boy,  about  ten  years  old,  with 
whose  appearance  and  general  intelligence  I  was 
BO  greatly  impressed,  that  I  engaged  him  on  the 
spot.  When  the  business  was  concluded,  I 
asked  his  name. 

^  Wan  Lee,"  said  the  boy. 

"  What !  Are  you  the  boy  sent  out  by  Hop 
Sing?  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  not 
coming  here  before  ?  and  how  did  you  deliver 
that  letter?"  , 

Wan  Lee  looked  at  me,  and  laughed.  "Me 
pitchee  in  top  side  window." 

I  did  not  understand.  He  looked  for  a  mo 
ment  perplexed,  and  then,  snatching  the  letter 
out  of  my  hand,  ran  down  the  stairs.  After  a 
moment's  pause,  to  my  great  astonishment,  the 
letter  came  flying  in  the  window,  circled  twice 
around  the  room,  and  then  dropped  gently,  like 
a  bird  upon  my  table.  Before  I  had  got  over 
my  surprise,  Wan  Lee  re-appeared,  smiled,  looked 
at  the  letter  and  then  at  me,  said,  "So,  John," 
and  ;then  remained  gravely  silent.  I  said  noth 
ing  further  ;  but  it  was  understood  that  this  was 
bis  first  official  act. 


WAN  LEE,   THE   PAGAN.  9} 

His  next  performance,  I  grieve  to  say,  was  not 
attended  with  equal  success.  One  of  our  regular 
paper-carriers  fell  sick,  and,  at  a  pinch,  Wan  Lee 
was  ordered  to  fill  his  place.  To  prevent  mis 
takes,  he  was  shown  over  the  route  the  previous 
evening,  and  supplied  at  about  daylight  with 
the  usual  number  of  subscribers'  copies.  He 
returned,  after  an  hour,  in  good  spirits,  and 
without  the  papers.  He  had  delivered  them  all, 
he  said. 

Unfortunately  for  Wan  Lee,  at  about  eight 
o'clock,  indignant  subscribers  began  to  arrive  at 
the  office.  They  had  received  their  copies ;  ,but 
how  ?  In  the  form  of  hard-pressed  cannon-balls, 
delivered  by  a  single  shot,  and  a  mere  tour  de 
force,  through  the  glass  of  bedroom-windows. 
They  had  received  them  full  in  the  face,  like  a 
base  ball,  if  they  happened  to  be  up  and  stir 
ring  ;  they  had  received  them  in  quarter-sheets, 
tucked  in  at  separate  windows ;  they  had  found 
them  in  the  chimney,  pinned  against  the  door, 
shot  through  attic-windows,  delivered  in  long 
slips  through  convenient  keyholes,  stuffed  into 
ventilators,  and  occupying  the  same  can  with 
the  morning's  milk.  One  subscriber,  who  waited 
for  some  time  at  the  office-door  to  have  a  per 
sonal  interview  with  Wan  Lee  (then  comforta 
bly  locked  in  my  bedroom),  told  me,  with  tears 
of  rage  in  his  eyes,  that  he  had  been  awakened 


92  WAN   LEE,   THE  PAGAN. 

at  five  o'clock  by  a  most  hideous  yelling  below 
his  windows ;  that,  on  rising  in  great  agitation, 
he  was  startled  by  the  sudden  appearance  of 
"  The  Northern  Star,"  rolled  hard,  and  bent  into 
the  form  of  a  boomerang,  or  East-Indian  club, 
that  sailed  into  the  window,  described  a  number 
of  fiendish  circles  in  the  room,  knocked  over  the 
light,  slapped  the  baby's  face,  "  took  "  him  (the 
subscriber)  "  in  the  jaw,"  and  then  returned  out 
of  the  window,  and  dropped  helplessly  in  the 
area.  During  the  rest  of  the  day,  wads  and  strips 
of  soiled  paper,  purporting  to  be  copies  of  "  The 
Northern  Star"  of  that  morning's  issue,  were 
brought  indignantly  to  the  office.'  An  admira 
ble  editorial  on  "  The  Resources  of  Humboldt 
County,"  which  I  had  constructed  the  evening 
before,  and  which,  I  had  reason  to  believe, 
might  have  changed  the  whole  balance  of  trade 
during  the  ensuing  year,  and  left  San  Francisco 
bankrupt  at  her  wharves,  was  in  this  way  lost  to 
the  public. 

It  was  deemed  advisable  for  the  next  three 
weeks  to  keep  Wan  Lee  closely  confined  to  the 
printing-office,  and  the  purely  mechanical  part 
of  the  business.  Here  he  developed  a  surprising 
quickness  and  adaptability,  winning  even  the 
favor  and  good  will  of  the  printers  and  foreman, 
who  at  first  looked  upon  his  introduction  into 
the  secrets  of  their  trade  as  fraught  witli  the 


WAN   LEE,   THE  PAGAN.  93 

gravest  political  significance.  He  learned  to  set 
type  readily  and  neatly,  his  wonderful  skill  in 
manipulation  aiding  him  in  the  mere  mechanical 
act,  and  his  ignorance  of  the  language  confining 
him  simply  to  the  mechanical  effort,  confirm 
ing  the  printer's  axiom,  that  the  printer  who 
considers  or  follows  the  ideas  of  his  copy  makes 
a  poor  compositor.  He  would  set  up  deliberate 
ly  long  diatribes  against  himself,  composed  by 
his  fellow-printers,  and  hung  on  his  hook  as 
copy,  and  even  such  short  sentences  as  "  Wan 
Lee  is  the  devil's  own  imp,"  "Wan  Lee  is  a 
Mongolian  rascal,"  and  bring  the  proof  to  me 
with  happiness  beaming  from  every  tooth,  and 
satisfaction  shining  in  his  huckleberry  eyes. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  he  learned  to 
retaliate  on  his  mischievous  persecutors.  I  re 
member  one  instance  in  which  his  reprisal  came 
very  near  involving  me  in  a  serious  misunder 
standing.  Our  foreman's  name  was  Webster ; 
and  Wan  Lee  presently  learned  to  know  and 
recognize  the  individual  and  combined  letters  of 
his  name.  It  was  during  a  political  campaign ; 
and  the  eloquent  and  fiery  Col.  Starbottle  of 
Siskyou  had  delivered  an  effective  speech, 
which  was  reported  especially  for  "  The  North 
ern  Star."  In  a  very  sublime  peroration,  Col. 
Starbottle  had  said,  "In  the  language  of  the 
godlike  Webster,  I  repeat " — and  here  followed 


94  WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN. 

* 

the  quotation,  which  I  have  forgotten.  Now,  it 
chanced  that  Wan  Lee,  looking  over  the  galley 
after  it  had  been  revised,  saw  the  name  of  his 
chief  persecutor,  and,  of  course,  imagined  the 
quotation  his^  After  the  form  was  locked  up, 
Wan  Lee  took  advantage  of  Webster's  absence 
to  remove  the  quotation,  and  substitute  a  thin 
piece  of  lead,  of  the  same  size  as  the  type,  en 
graved  with  Chinese  characters,  making  a  sen 
tence,  which,  I  had  reason  to  believe,  was  an 
utter  and  abject  confession  of  the  incapacity  and 
offensiveness  of  the  Webster  family  generally, 
and  exceedingly  eulogistic  of  Wan  Lee  himself 
personally. 

The  next  morning's  paper  contained  Col. 
Starbottle's  speech  in  full,  in  which  it  appeared 
that  the  "  godlike  "  Webster  had,  on  one  occa 
sion,  uttered  his  thoughts  in  excellent  but  per 
fectly  enigmatical  Chinese.  The  rage  of  Col. 
Starbottle  knew  no  bounds.  I  have  a  vivid 
recollection  of  that  admirable  man  walking  into 
my  office,  and  demanding  a  retraction  of  the 
statement. 

"  But  my  dear  sir,"  I  asked,  "  are  you  willing 
to  deny,  over  your  own  signature,  that  Webster 
ever  uttered  such  a  sentence  ?  Dare  you  deny, 
that,  with  Mr.  Webster's  well-known  attain 
ments,  a  knowledge  of  Chinese  might  not  have 
been  among  the  number  ?  Are  you  willing  to 


WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN.  95 

0 

submit  a  translation  suitable  to  the  capacity  of 
our  readers,  and  deny,  upon  your  honor  as  a 
gentleman,  that  the  late  Mr.  Webster  ever 
uttered  such  a  sentiment  ?  If  you  are,  sir,  I  am 
willing  to  publish  your  denial." 

The  colonel  was  not,  and  left,  highly  indig 
nant. 

"Webster,  the  foreman,  took  it  more  coolly. 
Happily,  he  was  unaware,  that,  for  two  days 
after,  Chinamen  from  the  laundries,  from  the 
gulches,  from  the  kitchens,  looked  in  the  front 
office-door,  with  faces  beaming  with  sardonic 
delight ;  that  three  hundred  extra  copies  of  the 
"  Star  "  were  ordered  for  the  wash-houses  on  the 
river.  He  only  knew,  that,  during  the  day,  Wan 
Lee  occasionally  went  off  into  convulsive  spasms, 
and  that  he  was  obliged  to  kick  him  into  con 
sciousness  again.  A  week  after  the  occurrence, 
I  called  Wan  Lee  into  my  office. 

"Wan,"  I  said  gravely,  "I  should  like  you 
to  give  me,  for  my  own  personal  satisfaction,  a 
translation  of  that  Chinese  sentence  which  my 
gifted  countryman,  the  late  godlike  Webster, 
uttered  upon  a  public  occasion."  Wan  Lee 
looked  at  me  intently,  and  then  the  slightest 
possible  twinkle  crept  into  his  black  eyes.  Then 
he  replied  with  equal  gravity,  — 

"  Mishtel  Webstel,  he  say,  '  China  boy  makee 
me  belly  much  foolee.  China  boy  makee  me 


96  WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN. 

heap  sick.'  "     Which  I  have  reason  to  think  was 
true. 

But  I  fear  I  am  giving  but  one  side,  and  not 
the  best,  of  Wan  Lee's  character.  As  he  im 
parted  it  to  me,  his  had  been  a  hard  life.  He 
had  known  scarcely  any  childhood :  he  had  no 
recollection  of  a  father  or  mother.  The  conjurer 
Wang  had  brought  him  up.  He  had  spent  the 
first  seven  years  of  his  life  in  appearing  from 
baskets,  in  dropping  out  of  hats,  in  climbing 
ladders,  in  putting  his  little  limbs  out  of  joint  in 
posturing.  He  had  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of 
trickery  and  deception.  He  had  learned  to  look 
upon  mankind  as  dupes  of  their  senses :  in  fine, 
if  he  had  thought  at  all,  he  would  have  been  a 
sceptic ;  if  he  had  been  a  little  older,  he  would 
have  been  a  cynic ;  if  he  had  been  older  still,  he 
would  have  been  a  philosopher.  As  it  was,  he 
was  a  little  imp.  A  good-natured  imp  it  was, 
too,  —  an  imp  whose  moral  nature  had  never 
been  awakened,  —  an  imp  up  for  a  holiday,  and 
willing  to  try  virtue  as  a  diversion.  I  don't  know 
that  he  had  any  spiritual  nature.  He  was  very 
superstitious.  He  carried  about  with  him  a 
hideous  little  porcelain  god,  which  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  alternately  reviling  and  propitiating. 
He  was  too  intelligent  for  the  commoner 
Chinese  vices  of  stealing  or  gratuitous  lying. 
Whatever  discipline  he  practised  was  taught  by 
his  intellect. 


WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN.  97 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  his  feelings  were 
not  altogether  unimpressible,  although  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  extract  an  expression  from 
him ;  and  I  conscientiously  believe  he  became 
attached  to  those  that  were  good  to  him. 
What  he  might  have  become  under  more 
favorable  conditions  than  the  bondsman  of  an 
overworked,  under-paid  literary  man,  I  don't 
know:  I  only  know  that  the  scant,  irregular, 
impulsive  kindnesses  that  I  showed  him  were 
gratefully  received.  He  was  very  loyal  and 
patient,  two  qualities  rare  in  the  average 
American  servant.  He  was  like  Malvolio,  "  sad 
and  civil "  with  me.  Only  once,  and  then  under 
great  provocation,  do  I  remember  of  his  exhib 
iting  any  impatience.  It  was  my  habit,  after 
leaving  the  office  at  night,  to  take  him  with  me 
to  my  rooms,  as  the  bearer  of  any  supplemental 
or  happy  after-thought,  in  the  editorial  way, 
that  might  occur  to  me  before  the  paper  went 
to  press.  One  night  I  had  been  scribbling  away 
past  the  usual  hour  of  dismissing  Wan  Lee, 
and  had  become  quite  oblivious  of  his  presence 
in  a  chair  near  my  door,  when  suddenly  I 
became  aware  of  a  voice  saying  in  plaintive 
accents,  something  that  sounded  like  "Chy 
Lee." 

I  faced  around  sternly. 

"What  did  you  say?" 


98  TV'AN  LEE,    THE   PAGAN. 

"  Me  say,  '  Chy  Lee.'  " 

"  Well  ?  "  I  said  impatiently. 

"  You  sabe,  '  How  do,  John  ? ' " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  sabe,  '  So  long,  John '  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  '  Chy  Lee  '  allee  same  !  " 

I  understood  him  quite  plainly.  It  appealed 
that  "  Chy  Lee  "  was  a  form  of  "  good-night," 
and  that  Wan  Lee  was  anxious  to  go  home. 
But  an  instinct  of  mischief,  which,  I  fear,  I 
possessed  in  common  with  him,  impelled  me  to 
act  as  if  oblivious  of  the  hint.  I  muttered 
something  about  not  understanding  him,  and 
again  bent  over  my  work.  In  a  few  minutes  I 
heard  his  wooden  shoes  pattering  pathetically 
over  the  floor.  I  looked  up.  He  was  standing 
near  the  door. 

"  You  no  sabe,  '  Chy  Lee  '?  " 

"  No,"  I  said  sternly. 

"  You  sabe  muchee  big  foolee  !  allee  same  I " 

And,  with  this  audacity  upon  his  lips,  he  fled. 
The  next  morning,  however,  he  was  as  meek 
and  patient  as  before,  and  I  did  not  recall  his 
offence.  As  a  probable  peace-offering,  he 
blacked  all  my  boots,  —  a  duty  never  required 
of  him,  —  including  a  pair  of  buff  deer-skin 
slippers  and  an  immense  pair  of  horseman's 
jack-boots,  on  which  he  indulged  his  remorse 
for  two  hours. 


WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN.  99 

I  have  spoken  of  his  honesty  as  being  a 
quality  of  his  intellect  rather  than  his  principle ; 
but  I  recall  about  this  time  two  exceptions 
to  the  rule.  I  was  anxious  to  get  some  fresh 
eggs  as  a  change  to  J  heavy  diet  of  a  mining- 
town;  and,  knowr  Wan  Lee's  country 

men  were  great  r  i  applied  to  him. 

He    furnished  m  regularly  every 

morning,  buv  •    ,ake  any  pay,  saying 

that  the  m  .  them,  —  a  remarkable 

instance  ution,  as  eggs  were  then 

worth  i-    apiece.       One    morning 

.my  T  ^er  dropped  in  upon  me   at 

brr  jok  occasion  to  bewail  his  own 

i1  s    his    hens  had  lately   stopped 

,ndered  off  in  the  bush.     Wan  Lee, 
resent  during  our  colloquy,  preserved 
acteristic   sad  taciturnity.     When  my 
or  had  gone,   he   turned  to  me  with  a 
.c  chuckle:    "  Flostel's   hens — Wan  Lee's 
heus   allee    same  !  "      His    other    offence   was 
more  serious  and  ambitious.     It  was   a   season 
of  great  irregularities  in  the  mails,  and  Wan 
Lee  had  heard  me    deplore  the  delay  in   the 
delivery  of    my  letters    and  newspapers.     On 
arriving  at  my  office  one  day,  I  was  amazed 
to  find  my  table  covered  with  letters,  evidently 
just  from  the  post-office,  but,  unfortunately,  not 
one  addressed  to  me.     I  turned  to  Wan  Lee, 


100  WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN. 

who  was  surveying  them  with  a  calm  satisfac 
tion,  and  demanded  an  explanation.  To  my 
horror  he  pointed  to  an  empty  mail-bag  in  the 
corner,  and  said,  "  Postman  he  say,  '  No  lettee, 
John ;  no  lettee,  John.'  Postman  plentee  He ! 
Postman  no  good.  Me  catchee  lettee  lasb 
night  allee  same  ! "  Luckily  it  was  still  early  : 
the  mails  had  not  been  distributed.  I  had  a 
hurried  interview  with  the  postmaster ;  and 
Wan  Lee's  bold  attempt  at  robbing  the  United 
States  mail  was  finally  condoned  by  the  pur 
chase  of  a  new  mail-bag,  and  the  whole  affair 
thus  kept  a  secret. 

If  my  liking  for  my  little  Pagan  page  had 
not  been  sufficient,  my  duty  to  Hop  Sing  was 
enough,  to  cause  me  to  take  Wan  Lee  with  .me 
when  I  returned  to  San  Francisco  after  my  tw".o 
years'  experience  with  "  The  Northern  Star.''' 
I  do  not  think  he  contemplated  the  change 
with  pleasure.  I  attributed  his  feelings  to  a 
nervous  dread  of  crowded  public  streets  (when 
he  had  to  go  across  town  for  me  on  an  errand, 
he  always  made  a  circuit  of  the  outskirts),  to 
his  dislike  for  the  discipline  of  the  Chinese  and 
English  school  to  which  I  proposed  to  send 
him,  to  his  fondness  for  the  free,  vagrant  life,  of 
the  mines,  to  sheer  wilfulness.  That  it  might 
have  been  a  superstitious  premonition  did  not 
occur  to  me  until  long  after. 


WAN   LEE,    THE   PAGAN.  101 

Nevertheless  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  oppor 
tunity  I  had  long  looked  for  and  confidently 
expected  had  come,  —  the  opportunity  of  pla 
cing  Wan  Lee  under  gently  restraining  influ-  * 
ences,  of  subjecting  him  to  a  life  and  experience 
that  would  draw  out  of  him  what  good  my 
superficial  care  and  ill-regulated  kindness  could 
not  reach.  Wan  Lee  was  placed  at  the  school 
of  a  Chinese  missionary,  —  an  intelligent  and 
kind-hearted  clergyman,  who  had  shown  great 
interest  in  the  boy,  and  who,  better  than  all, 
had  a  wonderful  faith  in  him.  A  home  was 
found  for  him  in  the  family  of  a  widow,  who 
had  a  bright  and  interesting  daughter  about 
two  years  younger  than  Wan  Lee.  It  was  this 
bright,  cheery,  innocent,  and  artless  child  that 
touched  and  reached  a  depth  in  the  boy's 
nature  that  hitherto  had  been  unsuspected ; 
that  awakened  a  moral  susceptibility  which  had 
lain  for  years  insensible  alike  to  the  teachings 
of  society,  or  the  ethics  of  the  theologian. 

These  few  brief  months  —  bright  with  a 
promise  that  we  never  saw  fulfilled— must  have 
been  happy  ones  to  Wan  Lee.  He  worshipped 
his  little  friend  with  something  of  the  same 
superstition,  but  without  any  of  the  caprice, 
that  he  bestowed  upon  his  porcelain  Pagan  god. 
It  was  his  delight  to  walk  behind  her  to  school, 
carrying  her  books,  —  a  service  always  fraught 


102  WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN. 

with  danger  to  him  from  the  little  hands  of  his 
Caucasian  Christian  brothers.  He  made  her  the 
most  marvellous  toys;  he  would  cut  out  of 
carrots  and  turnips  the  most  astonishing  roses 
and  tulips;  he  made  life-like  chickens  out  of 
melon-seeds ;  he  constructed  fans  and  kites,  and 
was  singularly  proficient  in  the  making  of  dolls' 
paper  dresses.  "On  the  other  hand,  she  played 
and  sang  to  him,  taught  him  a  thousand  little 
prettinesses  and  refinements  only  known  to  girls, 
gave  him  a  yellow  ribbon  for  his  pig-tail,  as  best 
suiting  his  complexion,  read  to  him,  showed  him 
wherein  he  was  original  and  valuable,  took  him 
to  Sunday  school  with  her,  against  the  prece 
dents  of  the  school,  and,  small-woman-like, 
triumphed.  I  wish  I  could  add  here,  that  she 
effected  his  conversion,  and  made  him  give  up 
his  porcelain  idol.  But  I  am  telling  a  true 
story ;  and  this  little  girl  was  quite  content  to  fill 
him  with  her  own  Christian  goodness,  without 
letting  him  know  that  he  was  changed.  So 
they  got  along  very  well  together,  —  this  little 
Christian  girl  with  her  shining  cross  hanging 
around  her  plump,  white  little  neck ;  and  this 
dark  little  Pagan,  with  his  hideous  porcelain 
god  hidden  away  in  his  blouse. 

There  were  two  days  of  that  eventful  year 
which  will  long  be  remembered  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  —  two  days  when  a  mob  of  her  citizens 


WAN  LEE,   THE   PAGAN.  103 

set  upon  and  killed  unarmed,  defenceless  for 
eigners  because  they  were  foreigners,  and  of 
another  race,  religion,  and  color,  and  worked 
for  what  wages  they  could  get.  There  were 
some  public  men  so  timid,  that,  seeing  this, 
they  thought  that  the  end  of  the  world  had 
come.  There  were  some  eminent  statesmen, 
whose  names  I  am  ashamed  to  write  here, 
who  began  to  think  that  the  passage  in  the 
Constitution  which  guarantees  civil  and  reli 
gious  liberty  to  every  citizen  or  foreigner  was 
a  mistake.  But  there  were,  also,  some  men 
who  were  not  so  easily  frightened ;  and  in 
twenty-four  hours  we  had  things  so  arranged, 
that  the  timid  men  could  wring  their  hands  in 
safety,  and  the  eminent  statesmen  utter  their 
doubts  without  hurting  any  body  or  any  thing. 
And  in  the  midst  of  this  I  got  a  note  from  Hop 
Sing,  asking  me  to  come  to  him  immediately. 

I  found  his  warehouse  closed,  and  strongly 
guarded  by  the  police  against  any  possible 
attack  of  the  rioters.  Hop  Sing  admitted  me 
through  a  barred  grating  with  his  usual  imper 
turbable  calm,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  with 
more  than  his  usual  seriousness.  Without  a 
word,  he  took  my  hand,  and  led  me  to  the  rear 
of  the  room,  and  thence  down  stairs  into  the 
basement.  It  was  dimly  lighted ;  but  there  was 
something  lying  on  the  floor  covered  by  a  shawl 


104  WAN  LEE,   THE  PAGAN. 

As  I  approached  he  drew  the  shawl  away  with 
a  sudden  gesture,  and  revealed  Wan  Lee,  the 
Pagan,  lying  there  dead. 

Dead,  my  reverend  friends,  dead,  —  stoned  to 
death  in  the  streets  of  San  Francisco,  in  the 
year  of  grace  1869,  by  a  mob  of  half-grown 
boys  and  Christian  school-children  ! 

As  I  put  my  hand  reverently  upon  his  breast, 
I  felt  something  crumbling  beneath  his  blouse. 
I  looked  inquiringly  at  Hop  Sing.  He  put  his 
hand  between  the  folds  of  silk,  and  drew  out 
something  with  the  first  bitter  smile  I  had  ever 
seen  on  the  face  of  that  Pagan  gentleman. 

It  was  Wan  Lee's  porcelain  god,  crushed  by 
a  stone  from  the  hands  of  those  Christian  icono 
clasts! 


HOW    OLD    MAN    PLUNKETT    WENT 
HOME. 

T  THINK  we  all  loved  him.  Even  after  he 
JL  mismanaged  the  affairs  of  the  Amity  Ditch 
Company,  we  commiserated  him,  although  most 
of  us  were  stockholders,  and  lost  heavily.  I 
remember  that  the  blacksmith  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that  "  them  chaps  as  put  that  responsi 
bility  on  the  old  man  oughter  be  lynched."  But 
the  blacksmith  was  not  a  stockholder ;  and  the 
expression  was  looked  upon  as  the  excusable 
extravagance  of  a  large,  sympathizing  nature, 
that,  when  combined  with  a  powerful  frame, 
was  unworthy  of  notice.  At  least,  that  was 
the  way  they  put  it.  Yet  I  think  there  was  a 
general  feeling  of  regret  that  this  misfortune 
would  interfere  with  the  old  man's  long-cher 
ished  plan  of  "  going  home." 

Indeed,  for  the  last  ten  years  he  had  been 
"  going  home."  He  was  going  home  after  a  six- 
months'  sojourn  at  Monte  Flat;  he  was  going 
home  after  the  first  rains ;  he  was  going  home 

105 


106    HOW  CXLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME. 

when  the  rains  were  over ;  he  was  going  home 
when  h&  had  cut  the  timber  on  Buckeye  Hill, 
when  there  was  pasture  on  Dow's  Flat,  when  he 
struck  pay-dirt  on  Eureka  Hill,  when  the  Amity 
Company  paid  its  first  dividend,  when  the  elec 
tion  was  over,  when  he  had  received  an  answer 
from  his  wife.  And  so  the  years  rolled  by, 
the  spring  rains  came  and  went,  the  woods  of 
Buckej^e  Hill  were  level  with  the  ground,  the 
pasture  on  Dow's  Flat  grew  sear  and  dry,  Eureka 
Hill  yielded  its  pay-dirt  and  swamped  its  owner, 
the  first  dividends  of  the  Amity  Company  were 
made  from  the  assessments  of  stockholders, 
there  were  new  county  officers  at  Monte  Flat, 
his  wife's  answer  had  changed  into  a  persistent 
question,  and  still  old  man  Plunkett  remained. 

It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  he  had  made  several 
distinct  essays  toward  going.  Five  years  before, 
he  had  bidden  good-by  to  Monte  Hill  with 
much  effusion  and  hand-shaking.  But  he  never 
got  any  farther  than  the  next  town.  Here 
he  was  induced  to  trade  the  sorrel  colt  he  was 
riding  for  a  bay  mare,  —  a  transaction  that  at 
once  opened  to  his  lively  fancy  a  vista  of  vast 
and  successful  future  speculation.  A  few  days 
after,  Abner  Dean  of  Angel's  received  a  letter 
from  him,  stating  that  he  was  going  to  Visalia  to 
buy  horses.  "  I  am  satisfied,"  wrote  Plunkett, 
with  that  elevated  rhetoric  for  which  his  corre- 


HOW  OLD   MAN  PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME.    107 

spondence  was  remarkable,  —  "I  am  satisfied 
that  we  are  at  last  developing  the  real  resources 
of  California.  The  world  will  yet  look  to  Dow's 
Flat  as  the  great  stock-raising  centre.  In  view 
of  the  interests  involved,  I  have  deferred  my 
departure  for  a  month."  It  was  two  before  he 
again  returned  to  us  —  penniless.  Six  months 
later,  he  was  again  enabled  to  start  for  the  East 
ern  States ;  and  this  time  he  got  as  far  as  San 
Francisco.  I  have  before  me  a  letter  which  I 
received  a  few  days  after  his  arrival,  from  which 
I  venture  to  give  an  extract :  "  You  know,  my 
dear  boy,  that  I  have  always  believed  that  gam 
bling,  as  it  is  absurdly  called,  is  still  in  its  in 
fancy  in  California.  I  have  always  maintained 
that  a  perfect  system  might  be  invented,  by 
which  the  game  of  poker  may  be  made  to  yield 
a  certain  percentage  to  the  intelligent  player. 
I  am  not  at  liberty  at  present  to  disclose  the 
system  ;  but  before  leaving  this  city  I  intend  to 
perfect  it."  He  seems  to  have  done  so,  and 
returned  to  Monte  Flat  with  two  dollars  and 
thirty-seven  cents,  the  absolute  remainder  of 
his  capital  after  such  perfection. 

It  was  not  until  1868  that  he  appeared  to 
have  finally  succeeded  in  going  home.  He  left 
us  by  the  overland  route,  —  a  route  wkich  he 
declared  would  give  great  opportunity  for  the 
discovery  of  undeveloped  resources.  His  last 


108    HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME. 

letter  was  dated  Virginia  City.  He  was  absent 
three  years.  At  the  close  of  a  very  hot  day  in 
midsummer,  he  alighted  from  the  Wingdam 
stage,  with  hair  and  beard  powdered  with  dust 
and  age.  There  was  a  certain  shyness  about  his 
greeting,  quite  different  from  his  usual  frank 
volubility,  that  did  not,  however,  impress  us  as 
any  accession  of  character.  For  some  days  he 
was  reserved  regarding  his  recent  visit,  content 
ing  himself  with  asserting,  with  more  or  less 
aggressiveness,  that  he  had  "  always  said  he  was 
going  home,  and  now  he  had  been  there."  Later 
he  grew  more  communicative,  and  spoke  freely 
and  critically  of  the  manners  and  customs  of 
New  York  and  Boston,  commented  on  the  social 
changes  in  the  years  of  his  absence,  and,  I 
remember,  was  very  hard  upon  what  he  deemed 
the  follies  incidental  to  a  high  state  of  civiliza 
tion.  Still  later  he  darkly  alluded  to  the  moral 
laxity  of  the  higher  planes  of  Eastern  society ; 
but  it  was  not  long  before  he  completely  tore 
away  the  veil,  and  revealed  the  naked  wicked 
ness  of  New  York  social  life  in  a  way  I  even 
now  shudder  to  recall.  Vinous  intoxication,  it 
appeared,  was  a  common  habit  of  the  first  ladies 
of  the  city.  Immoralities  which  he  scarcely 
dared  name  were  daily  practised  by  the  refined 
of  both  sexes.  Niggardliness  and  greed  were  the" 
common  vices  of  the  rich.  "I  have  always 


HOW  OLD  MAN  PLTJNKETT  WENT   HO3EE.    109 

asserted,"  lie  continued,  "  that  corruption  must 
exist  where  luxury  and  riches  are  rampant, 
and  capital  is  not  used  to  develop  the  natural 
resources  of  the  country.  Thank  you  —  I  will 
take  mine  without  sugar."  It  is  possible  that 
some  of  these  painful  details  crept  into  the  local 
journals.  I  remember  an  editorial  in  "  The  Monte 
Flat  Monitor,"  entitled  "  The  Effete  East,"  in 
which  the  fatal  decadence  of  New  York  and 
New  England  was  elaborately  stated,  and  Cali 
fornia  offered  as  a  means  of  natural  salvation. 
"  Perhaps,"  said  "  The  Monitor,"  "  we  might 
add  that  Calaveras  County  offers  superior  induce 
ments  to  the  Eastern  visitor  with  capital." 

Later  he  spoke  of  his  family.  The  daughter 
he  had  left  a  child  had  grown  into  beautiful 
womanhood.  The  son  was  already  taller  and 
larger  than  his  father ;  and,  in  a  playful  trial  of 
strength,  "  the  young  rascal,"  added  Plunkett, 
with  a  voice  broken  with  paternal  pride  and 
humorous  objurgation,  had  twice  thrown  his 
doting  parent  to  the  ground.  But  it  was  of  his 
daughter  he  chiefly  spoke.  Perhaps  emboldened 
by  the  evident  interest  which  masculine  Monte 
Flat  held  in  feminine  beauty,  he  expatiated  at 
some  length  on  her  various  charms  and  accom 
plishments,  and  finally  produced  her  photograph, 
—  that  of  a  very  pretty  girl,  —  to  their  infinite 
peril.  But  his  account  of  his  first  meeting  with 


110    HOW  OLD  MAN  PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME. 

her  was  so  peculiar,  that  I  must  fain  give  it 
after  his  own  methods,  which  were,  perhaps, 
some  shades  less  precise  and  elegant  than  his 
written  style. 

"  You  see,  boys,  it's  always  been  my  opinion 
that  a  man  oughter  be  able  to  tell  his  own  flesh 
and  blood  by  instinct.  It's  ten  years  since  I'd 
seen  my  Melindy ;  and  she  was  then  only  seven, 
and  about  so  high.  So,  when  I  went  to  New 
York,  what  did  I  do  ?  Did  I  go  straight  to  my 
house,  and  ask  for  my  wife  and  daughter,  like 
other  folks  ?  No,  sir  !  I  rigged  myself  up  as  a 
peddler,  as  a  peddler,  sir ;  and  I  rung  the  bell. 
When  the  servant  came  to  the  door,  I  wanted 
—  don't  you  see?  —  to  show  the  ladies  some 
trinkets.  Then  there  was  a  voice  over  the  ban 
ister  says,  '  Don't  want  any  thing :  send  him 
away.'  — '  Some  nice  laces,  ma'am,  smuggled,'  I 
says,  looking  up.  '  Get  out,  you  wretch ! '  says 
she.  I  knew  the  voice,  boys  :  it  was  my  wife, 
sure  as  a  gun.  Thar  wasn't  any  instinct  thar. 
4  Maybe  the  young  ladies  want  something'  I 
said.  '  Did  you  hear  me  ?  '  says  she  ;  and  with 
that  she  jumps  forward,  and  I  left.  It's  ten 
years,  boys,  since  I've  seen  the  old  woman ;  but 
somehow,  when  she  fetched  that  leap,  I  naterally 
left." 

He  had  been  standing  beside  the  bar  —  his 
usual  attitude  —  when  he  made  this  speech ;  but 


HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME.     Ill 

at  this  point  he  half  faced  his  auditors  with  a 
look  that  was  very  effective.  Indeed,  a  few 
who  had  exhibited  some  signs  of  scepticism  and 
lack  of  interest,  at  once  assumed  an  appearance 
of  intense  gratification  and  curiosity  as  he 
went  on,  — 

"  Well,  by  hangin  round  there  for  a  day  or 
two,  I  found  out  at  last  it  was  to  be  Melindy's 
birthday  next  week,  and  that  she  was  goin'  to 
have  a  big  party.  I  tell  ye  what,  boys,  it 
weren't  no  slouch  of  a  reception.  The  whole 
house  was  bloomin'  with  flowers,  and  blazin' 
with  lights ;  and  there  was  no  end  of  servants 
and  plate  and  refreshments  and  fixin's  "  — 

"  Uncle  Joe." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Where  did  they  get  the  money  ?  " 

Plunkett  faced  his  interlocutor  with  a  severe 
glance.  "  I  always  said,"  he  replied  slowly, 
"  that,  when  I  went  home,  I'd  send  on  ahead  of 
me  a  draft  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  I  always 
said  that,  didn't  I?  Eh?  And  I  said  I  was 
goin'  home — and  I've  been  home,  haven't  I? 
Well  ?  " 

Either  there  was  something  irresistibly  con 
clusive  in  this  logic,  or  else  the  desire  to  hear 
the  remainder  of  Plunkett's  story  was  stronger ; 
but  there  was  no  more  interruption.  His  ready 
good-humor  quickly  returned,  and,  with  a  slight 
chuckle,  he  went  on,  — 


L12    HOW  OLD  MAN   PLTJNKETT  WENT  HOME. 

•'  I  went  to  the  biggest  jewelry  shop  in  town, 
and  I  bought  a  pair  of  diamond  ear-rings,  arid 
put  them  in  my  pocket,  and  went  to  the  house. 
4  What  name  ? '  says  the  chap  who  opened  the 
door ;  and  he  looked  like^  a  cross  'twixt  a  restau 
rant  waiter  and  a  parson.  '  Skeesicks,'  said  I. 
He  takes  me  in ;  and  pretty  soon  my  wife  comes 
sailin'  into  the  parlor,  and  says,  '  Excuse  me ; 
but  I  don't  think  I  recognize  the  name.'  She 
was  mighty  polite ;  for  I  had  on  a  red  wig  and 
side-whiskers.  'A  friend  of  your  husband's 
from  California,  ma'am,  with  a  present  for  your 
daughter,  Miss ,'  and  I  made  as  I  had  for 
got  the  name.  But  all  of  a  sudden  a  voice 
said,  '  That's  too  thin  ; '  and  in  walked  Melindy. 
4  It's  playin'  it  rather  low  down,  father,  to 
pretend  you  don't  know  your  daughter's  name  ; 
ain't  it,  now  ?  How  are  you,  old  man  ?  '  And 
with  that  she  tears  off  my  wig  and  whiskers, 
and  throws  her  arms  around  my  neck  —  instinct, 
sir,  pure  instinct !  " 

Emboldened  by  the  laughter  which  followed 
his  description  of  the  filial  utterances  of  Melin- 
da,  he  again  repeated  her  speech,  with  more  or 
less  elaboration,  joining  in  with,  and  indeed 
often  leading,  the  hilarity  that  accompanied  it, 
and  returning  to  it,  with  more  or  less  inco- 
herency,  several  times  during  the  evening. 

And   so,    at    various    times    and   at  various 


HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME.    113 

places,  but  chiefly  in  bar-rooms,  did  this 
Ulysses  of  Monte  Flat  recount  the  story  of 
his  -wanderings.  There  were  several  discrep 
ancies  in  his  statement;  there  was  sometimes 
considerable  prolixity  of  detail ;  there  was  occa 
sional  change  of  character  and  scenery ;  there 
was  once  or  twice  an  absolute  change  in  the 
denotiment :  but  always  the  fact  of  his  having 
visited  his  wife  and  children  remained.  Of 
course,-  in  a  sceptical  community  like  that  of 
Monte  Flat,  —  a  community  accustomed  to  great 
expectation  and  small  realization,  —  a  commu 
nity  wherein,  to  use  the  local  dialect,  "  they  got 
the  color,  and  struck  hardpan,"  more  frequently 
than  any  other  mining-camp,  —  in  such  a  com 
munity,  the  fullest  credence  was  ;not  given  to 
old  man  Plunkett's  facts.  There  was  only  one 
exception  to  the*  general  unbelief,  —  Henry  York 
of  Sandy  Bar.  It  was  he  who  was  always  an 
attentive  listener ;  it  was  his  scant  purse  that 
had  often  furnished  Plunkett  with  means  to 
pursue  his  unprofitable  speculations ;  it  was  to 
him  that  the  charms  of  Melinda  were  more  fre 
quently  rehearsed ;  it  was  he  that  had  borrowed 
her  photograph ;  and .  it  was  he  that,  sitting 
alone  in  his  little  cabin  one  night,  kissed  -that 
photograph,  until  his  honest,  handsome  face 
glowed  again  in  the  firelight.  * 

It  was  dusty  in  Monte  Flat.     The  ruins  of 


114    HOW  OLD  MAN  PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME. 

the  long  dry  season  were  crumbling  every 
where  :  everywhere  the  dying  summer  had 
strewn  its  red  ashes  a  foot  deep,  or  exhaled 
its  last  breath  in  a  red  cloud  above  the  troubled 
highways.  The  alders  and  cottonwoods,  that 
marked  the  line  of  the  water-courses,  wore 
grimy  with  dust,  and  looked  as  if  they  might 
have  taken  root  in  the  open  air.  The  gleaming 
stones  of  the  parched  water-courses  themselves 
were  as  dry  bones  in  the  valley  of  death.  The 
dusty  sunset  at  times  painted  the  flanks  of  the 
distant  hills  a  dull,  coppery  hue  :  on  other  days, 
there  was  an  odd,  indefinable  earthquake  halo 
on  the  volcanic  cones  of  the  farther  coast-spurs. 
Again  an  acrid,  resinous  smoke  from  the  burning 
wood  on  Heavytree  Hill  smarted  the  eyes,  and 
choked  the  free  breath  of  Monte  Flat;  or  a 
fierce  wind,  driving  every  thing,  including  the 
shrivelled  summer,  like  a  curled  leaf  before  it, 
swept  down  the  flanks  of  the  Sierras,  and 
chased  the  inhabitants  to  the  doors  of  their 
cabins,  and  shook  its  red  fist  in  at  their  win 
dows.  And  on  such  a  night  as  this,  the  dust 
having  in  some  way  choked  the  wheels  of  ma 
terial  progress  in  Monte  Flat,  most  of  the  in 
habitants  were  gathered  listlessly  in  the  gilded 
bar-room  of  the  Moquelumne  Hotel,  spitting 
silently  at  the  red-hot  stove  that  tempered  the 
mountain  winds  to  the  shorn  lambs  of  Monte 
Flat,  and  waiting  for  the  rain. 


HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME.     115 

Every  method  known  to  the  Flat  of  beguiling 
the  time  until  the  advent  of  this  long-looked- 
for  phenomenon  had  been  tried.  It  is  true,  the 
methods  were  not  many,  being  limited  chiefly 
to  that  form  of  popular  facetiae  known  as  prac 
tical  joking;  and  even  this  had  assumed  the 
seriousness  of  a  business-pursuit.  Tommy  Roy, 
who  had  spent  two  hours  in  digging  a  ditch  in 
front  of  his  own  door,  into  which  a  few  friends 
casually  dropped  during  the  evening,  looked 
ennuye  and  dissatisfied.  The  four  prominent 
citizens,  who,  disguised  as  foot-pads,  had 
stopped  the  county  treasurer  on  the  Wingdam 
road,  were  jaded  from  their  playful  efforts 
next  morning.  The  principal  physician  and 
lawyer  of  Monte  Flat,  who  had  entered  into  an 
unhallowed  conspiracy  to  compel  the  sheriff 
of  Calaveras  and  his  posse  to  serve  a  writ  of 
ejectment  on  a  grizzly  bear,  feebly  disguised 
under  "the  name  of  one  "  Major  Ursus,"  who 
haunted  the  groves  of  Heavytree  Hill,  wore 
an  expression  of  resigned  weariness.  Even  the 
editor  of  "  The  Monte  Flat  Monitor,"  who  had 
that  morning  written  a  glowing  account  of  a 
battle  with  the  Wipneck  Indians,  for  the  bene 
fit  of  Eastern  readers,  —  even  he  looked  grave 
and  worn.  When,  at  last,  Abner  Dean  of  An 
gel's,  who  had  been  on  a  visit  to  San  Francisco, 
walked  into  the  room,  he  was,  of  course,  vie- 


116     HOW  OLD    MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME. 

timized  in  the  usual  way  by  one  or  two  appar 
ently  honest  questions,  which  ended  in  his 
answering  them,  and  then  falling  into  the  trap 
of  asking  another,  to  his  utter  and  complete 
shame  and  mortification ;  but  that  was  all.  No 
body  laughed;  and  Abner,  although  a  victim, 
did  not  lose  his  good-humor.  He  turned  quietly 
on  his  tormentors,  and  said,  — 

"I've  got  something  better  than  that — you 
know  old  man  Plunkett  ?  " 

Everybody  simultaneously  spat  at  the  stove, 
and  nodded  his  head. 

"  You  know  he  went  home  three  years  ago  ?  " 
Two  or  three  changed  the  position  of  their  legs 
from  the  backs  of  different  chairs ;  and  one  man 
said,  "  Yes." 

"  Had  a  good  time,  home  ?  " 

Everybody  looked  cautiously  at  the  man  who 
had  said,  "  Yes ;  "  and  he,  accepting  the  respon 
sibility  with  a  faint-hearted  smile,  said,  "  Yes," 
again,  and  breathed  hard.  "  Saw  his  wife  and 
child  —  purty  gal?"  said  Abner  cautiously. 
"  Yes,"  answered  the  man  doggedly.  "  Saw 
her  photograph,  perhaps?"  continued  Abner 
Dean  quietly. 

The  man  looked  hopelessly  around  for  sup 
port.  Two  or  three,  who  had  been  sitting  near 
him,  and  evidently  encouraging  him  with  a  look 
of  interest,  now  shamelessly  abandoned  him. 


HOW  OLD  MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME.    117 

and  looked  another  way.  Henry  York'  flushed 
a  little,  and  veiled  his  gray  eyes.  The  man 
hesitated,  and  then  with  a  sickly  smile,  that 
was  intended  to  convey  the  fact  that  he  was 
perfectly  aware  of  the  object  of  this  question 
ing,  and  was  only  humoring  it  from  abstract 
good  feeling,  returned,  "  Yes,"  again. 

"Sent  home  —  let's  see  —  ten  thousand  dol 
lars,  wasn't  it? "  Abner  Dean  went  on  "  Yes," 
reiterated  the  man  with  the  same  smile. 

"Well,  I  thought  so,"  said  Abner  quietly. 
"  But  the  fact  is,  you  see,  that  he  never  went 
home  at  all  —  nary  time." 

Everybody  stared  at  Abner  in  genuine  sur 
prise  and  interest,  as,  with  provoking  calmness 
and  a  half-lazy  manner,  he  went  on,  — 

"  You  see,  thar  was  a  man  down  in  'Frisco  as 
knowed  him,  and  saw  him  in  Sonora  during  the 
whole  of  that  three  years.  He  was  herding 
sheep,  or  tending  cattle,  or  spekilating  all  that 
time,  and  hadn't  a  red  cent.  Well  it  'mounts 
to  this,  —  that  'ar  Plunkett  ain't  been  east  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains  since  '49." 

The  laugh  which  Abner  Dean  had  the  right 
to  confidently  expect  came ;  but  it  was  bitter 
and  sardonic.  I  think  indignation  was  appar 
ent  in  the  minds  of  his  hearers.  It  was  felt, 
for  the  first  time,  that  there  was  a  limit  to  prac 
tical  joking.  A  deception  carried  on  for  a  year, 


118    HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME. 

compromising  the  sagacity  of  Monte  Flat,  was 
deserving  the  severest  reprobation.  Of  course, 
nobody  had  believed  Plunkett;  but  then  the 
supposition  that  it  might  be  believed  in  adja 
cent  camps  that  they  had  believed  him  was  gall 
and  bitterness.  The  lawyer  thought  that  an 
indictment  for  obtaining  money  under  false  pre 
tences  might  be  found.  The  physician  had  long 
suspected  him  of  insanity,  and  was  not  certain 
but  that  he  ought  to  be  confined.  The  four 
prominent  merchants  thought  that  the  business- 
interests  of  Monte  Flat  demanded  that  some 
thing  should  be  done.  In  the  midst  of  an 
excited  and  angry  discussion,  the  door  slowly 
opened,  and  old  man  Plunkett  staggered  into 
the  room. 

He  had  changed  pitifully  in  the  last  six 
months.  His  hair  was  a  dusty,  yellowish  gray, 
like  the  chemisal  on  the  flanks  of  Heavy  tree 
Hill ;  his  face  was  waxen  white,  and  blue  and 
puffy  under  the  eyes;  his  clothes  were  soiled 
and  shabby,  streaked  in  front  with  the  stains 
of  hurriedly  eaten  luncheons,  and  fluffy  behind 
with  the  wool  and  hair  of  hurriedly-extem 
porized  couches.  In  obedience  to  that  odd 
law,  that,  the  more  seedy  and  soiled  a  man's 
garments  become,  the  less  does  he  seem  inclined 
to  part  with  them,  even  during  that  portion 
of  the  twenty-four  hours  when  they  are 


HOW  OLD   MAN   PLTJNKETT  WENT   HOME.    119 

deemed  less  essential,  Plunkett's  clothes  had 
gradually  taken  on  the  appearance  of  a  kind 
of  a  bark,  or  an  outgrowth  from  within,  for 
which  their  possessor  was  not  entirely  responsi 
ble.  Howbeit,  as  he  entered  the  room,  he 
attempted  to  button  Ms  coat  over  a  dirty 
shirt,  and  passed  his  fingers,  after  the  manner 
of  some  animal,  over  his  cracker-strewn  beard, 
in  recognition  of  a  cleanly  public  sentiment. 
But,  even  as  he  did  so,  the  weak  smile  faded 
from  his  lips ;  and  his  hand,  after  fumbling  aim 
lessly  around  a  button,  dropped  helplessly  at 
his  side.  For  as  he  leaned  his  back  against  the 
bar,  and  faced  the  group,  he,  for  the  first  time, 
became  aware  that  every  eye  but  one  was  fixed 
upon  him.  His  quick,  nervous  apprehension  at 
once  leaped  to  the  truth.  His  miserable  secret 
was  out,  and  abroad  in  the  very  air  about  him. 
As  a  last  resort,  he  glanced  despairingly  at 
Henry  York ;  but  his  flushed  face  was  turned 
toward  the  windows. 

No  word  was  spoken.  As  the  bar-keeper 
silently  swung  a  decanter  and  glass  before  him, 
he  took  a  cracker  from  a  dish,  and  mumbled  it 
with  affected  unconcern.  He  lingered  over  his 
liquor  until  its  potency  stiffened  his  relaxed 
sinews,  and  dulled  the  nervous  edge  of  his  ap 
prehension,  and  then  he  suddenly  faced  around. 
"  It  don't  look  as  if  wo  were  goin'  to  hev  any 


120    HOW  OLD   MAX   PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME. 

rain  much  afore  Christmas,"  he  said  with  defi 
ant  ease. 

No  one  made  any  reply. 

"  Just  like  this  in  '52,  and  again  in  '60.  It's 
always  been  my  opinion  that  these  dry  seasons 
come  reg'lar.  I've  said  it  afore.  I  say  it  again. 
It's  jist  as  I  said  about  going  home,  you  know," 
he  added  with  desperate  recklessness. 

"  Thar's  a  man,"  said  Abner  Dean  lazily, 
"  ez  sez  you  never  went  home.  Thar's  a  man 
ez  sez  you've  been  three  years  in  Sonora. 
Thar's  a  man  ez  sez  you  hain't  seen  your  wife 
and  daughter  since  '49.  Thar's  a  man  ez  sez 
you've  been  playin'  this  camp  for  six.  months." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  a  voice  said 
quite  as  quietly,  — 

"  That  man  lies." 

It  was  not  the  old  man's  voice.  Everybody 
turned  as  Henry  York  slowly  rose,  stretching 
out  his  six  feet  of  length,  and,  brushing  away 
the  ashes  that  had  fallen  from  his  pipe  upon 
his  breast,  deliberately  placed  himself  beside 
Plunkett,  and  faced  the  others. 

"  That  man  ain't  here,"  continued  Abner 
Dean,  with  listless  indifference  of  voice,  and  a 
gentle  pre-occupation  of  manner,  as  he  care 
lessly  allowed  his  right  hand  to  rest  on  his  hip 
near  his  revolver.  "  That  man  ain't  here  ;  but, 
if  I'm  called  upon  to  make  good  what  he  says, 
whv,  I'm  on  hand." 


HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME.    121 

All  rose  as  the  two  men — perhaps  the  least 
externally  agitated  of  them  all  —  approached 
each  other.  The  lawyer  stepped  in  between 
them. 

"  Perhaps  there's  some  mistake  here.  York, 
do  you  know  that  the  old  man  has  been  home  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

York  tinned  his  clear,  honest,  frank  eyes  on 
his  questioner,  and  without  a  tremor  told  the 
only  direct  and  unmitigated  lie  of  his  life. 
"  Because  I've  seen  him  there." 

The  answer  was  conclusive.  It  was  known 
that  York  had  been  visiting  the  East  during  the 
old  man's  absence.  The  colloquy  had  diverted 
attention  from  Plunkett,  who,  pale  and  breath 
less,  was  staring  at  his  unexpected  deliverer. 
As  he  turned  again  toward  his  tormentors,  there 
was  something  in  the  expression  of  his  eye  that 
caused  those  that  were  nearest  to  him  to  fall 
back,  and  sent  a  strange,  indefinable  thrill 
through  the  boldest  and  most  reckless.  As 
he  made  a  step  forward,  the  physician,  almost 
unconsciously,  raised  his  hand  with  a  warning 
gesture  ;  and  old  man  Plunkett,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  red-hot  stove,  and  an  odd  smi]e 
playing  about  his  mouth,  began,  — 

"  Yes  —  of  course  you  did.  Who  says  you 
didn't?  It  ain't  no  lie.  I  said  I  was  goin1 


122    HOW  OLD   MAN  PLTJNKETT  WENT   HOME. 

home  —  and  I've  been  home.  Haven't  I  ?  My 
God !  I  have.  Who  says  I've  been  lyin'  ? 
Who  says  I  m  dreamin'  ?  Is  it  true  —  why 
don't  you  speak  ?  It  is  true,  after  all.  You  say 
you  saw  me  there :  why  don't  you  speak  again  ? 
Say,  say !  —  is  it  true  ?  It's  going  now.  O  my 
God  !  it's  going  again.  It's  going  now.  Save 
me  !  "  And  with  a  fierce  cry  he  fell  forward  in 
a  fit  upon  the  floor. 

When  the  old  man  regained  his  senses,  he 
found  himself  in  York's  cabin.  A  flickering 
fire  of  pine-boughs  lit  up  the  rude  rafters,  and 
fell  upon  a  photograph  tastefully  framed  with 
fir-cones,  and  hung  above  the  brush  whereon  he 
lay.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  young  girl.  It 
was  the  first  object  to  meet  the  old  man's  gaze  ; 
and  it  brought  with  it  a  flush  of  such  painful 
consciousness,  that  he  started,  and  glanced 
quickly  around.  But  his  eyes  only  encountered 
those  of  York,  —  clear,  gray,  critical,  and  pa 
tient, —  and  they  fell  again. 

"  Tell  me,  old  man,"  said  York  not  unkindly, 
but  with  the  same  cold,  clear  tone  in  his  voice 
that  his  eye  betrayed  a  moment  ago,  — "  tell 
me,  is  that  a  lie  too  ?  "  and  he  pointed  to  the 
picture. 

The  old  man  closed  his  eyes,  and  did  not 
reply.  Two  hours  before,  the  question  would 
have  stung  him  into  some  evasion  or  bravado. 


HOW  OLD  MAN  PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME.     123 

But  the  revelation  contained  in  the  question,  as 
well  as  the  tone  of  York's  voice,  was  to  him  now, 
in  his  pitiable  condition,  a  relief.  It  was  plain, 
even  to'  his  confused  brain>  that  York  had  lied 
when  he  had  indorsed  his  story  in  the  bar-room ; 
it  was  clear  to  him  now  that  he  had  not  been 
home,  that  he  was  not,  as  he  had  begun  to 
fear,  going  mad.  It  was  such  a  relief,  that,  with 
characteristic  weakness,  his  former  recklessness 
and  extravagance  returned.  He  began  to 
chuckle,  finally  to  laugh  uproariously. 

York,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  old  man, 
withdrew  the  hand  with  which  he  had  taken 
his. 

"  Didn't  we  fool  'em  nicely ;  eh,  Yorky !  He, 
he  !  The  biggest  thing  yet  ever  played  in  this 
camp  !  I  always  said  I'd  play  'em  all  some  day, 
and  I  have  —  played  'em  for  six  months.  Ain't 
it  rich  ?  —  ain't  it  the  richest  thing  you  ever 
seed  ?  Did  you  see  Abner's  face  when  he  spoke 
'bout  that  man  as  seed  me  in  Sonora  ?  Warn't 
it  good  as  the  minstrels  ?  Oh,  it's  too  much  !  " 
and,  striking  his  leg  with  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
he  almost  threw  himself  from  the  bed  in  a 
paroxysm  of  laughter,  —  a  paroxysm  that,  nev 
ertheless,  appeared  to  be  half  real  and  half 
affected. 

"Is  that  photograph  hers?"  said  York  in  a 
low  voice,  after  a  slight  pause. 


124    HOW  OLD   MAN  PLTJNKETT  WENT   HOME. 

"  Hers  ?  No !  It's  one  of  'the  San  Francisco 
actresses.  He,  he !  Don't  you  see  ?  I  bought 
it  for  two  bits  in  one  of  the  bookstores.  I 
never  thought  they'd  swaller  that  too ;  but  they 
did !  Oh,  but  the  old  man  played  'em  this 
'time  didn't  he  —  eh?"  and  he  peered  curiously 
in  York's  face. 

"Yes,  and  he  played  me  too,"  said  York, 
looking  steadily  in  the  old  man's  eye. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  interposed  Plunkett  hasti 
ly ;  "  but  you  know,  Yorky,  you  got  out  of  it 
well!  You've  sold -'em  too.  We've  both  got 
'em  on  a  string  now  —  you  and  me  —  got  to 
stick  together  now.  You  did  it  well,  Yorky : 
you  did  it  well.  Why,  when  you  said  you'd 
seen  me  in  York  City,  I'm  d d  if  I  didn't  "  — 

"Didn't  what?"  said  York  gently;  for  the 
old  man  had  stopped  with  a  pale  face  and  wan 
dering  eye. 

"Eh?" 

"  You  say  when  I  said  I  had  seen  you  in  New 
York  you  thought "  — 

"  You  lie  !  "  said  the  old  man  fiercely.  "  I 
didn't  say  I  thought  any  thing.  What  are  you 
trying  to  go  back  on  me  for,  eh  ?  "  His  hands 
were  trembling  as  he  rose  muttering  from  the 
bed,  and  made  his  way  toward  the  hearth. 

"  Gimme  some  whiskey,"  he  said  presently, 
"and  dry  up.  You  oughter  treat  anyway. 


HOW  OLD    MAN   PLTJNKETT  WENT   HOME.    125 

Them  fellows  oughter  treated  last  night.  By 
hookey,  I'd  made  'em — only  I  fell  sick." 

York  placed  the  liquor  and  a  tin  cup  on  the 
table  beside  him,  and,  going  to  the  door,  turned 
his  back  upon  his  guest,  and  looked  out  on  the 
night.  Although  it  was  clear  moonlight,  the 
familiar  prospect  never  to  him  seemed  so  drea 
ry.  The  dead  waste  of  the  broad  Wingdam 
highway  never  seemed  so  monotonous,  so  like 
the  days  that  he  had  passed,  and  were  to  come 
to  him,  so  like  the  old  man  in  its  suggestion 
of  going  sometime,  and  never^getting  there. 
He  turned,  and  going  up  to  Plunkett  put  his 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  said,  — 

"  I  want  you  to  answer  one  question  fairly 
and  squarely." 

The  liquor  seemed  to  have  warmed  the  torpid 
blood  in  the  old  man's  veins,  and  softened  his 
acerbity;  for  the  face  he  turned  up  to  York 
was  mellowed  in  its  rugged  outline,  and  more 
thoughtful  in  expression,  as  he  said,  — 

"  Go  on,  my  boy." 

"  Have  you  a  wife  and  —  daughter  ?  " 

"  Before  God  I  have  !  " 

The  two  men  were  silent  for  a  moment,  both 
gazing  at  the  fire.  Then  Plunkett  began  rub 
bing  his  knees  slowly. 

"  The  wife,  if  it  comes  to  that,  ain't  much," 
he  began  cautiously,  "being  a  little  on  the 


126    HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME. 

shoulder,  you  know,  and  wantin',  so  to  speak, 
a  liberal  California  education,  which  makes,  you 
know,  a  bad  combination.  It's  always  been  my 
opinion,  that  there  ain't  any  worse.  Why,  she's 
as  ready  with  her  tongue  as  Abner  Dean  is  with 
his  revolver,  only  with  the  difference  that  she 
shoots  from  principle,  as  she  calls  it ;  and  the 
consequence  is,  she's  always  layin'  for  you. 
It's  the  effete  East,  my  boy,  that's  ruinin'  her. 
It's  them  ideas  she  gets  in  New  York  and  Bos 
ton  that's  made  her  and  me  what  we  are.  I 
don't  mind  hex*  havin'  'em,  if  she  didn't  shoot. 
But,  havin'  that  propensity,  them  principles 
oughtn't  to  be  lying  round  loose  no  more'n  fire 
arms." 

"  But  your  daughter  ?  "  said  York. 

The  old  man's  hands  went  up  to  his  eyen 
here,  and  then  both  hands  and  head  dropped 
forward  on  the  table.  "Don't  say  any  thing 
'bout  her,  my  boy,  don't  ask  me  now."  With 
one  hand  concealing  his  eyes,  he  fumbled  about 
with  the  other  in  his  pockets  for  his  handker 
chief —  but  vainly.  Perhaps  it  was  owing  to 
this  fact,  that  he  repressed  his  tears  ;  for,  when 
he  removed  his  hand  from  his  eyes,  they  were 
quite  dry.  Then  he  found  his  voice. 

"  She's  a  beautiful  girl,  beautiful,  though  I 
say  it ;  and  you  shall  see  her,  my  boy,  —  you  shall 
see  her  sure.  I've  got  things  about  fixed  now. 


HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME.    127 

I  shall  have  my  plan  for  reducin'  ores  perfected 
in  a  day  or  two ;  and  I've  got  proposals  from  all 
the  smeltin'  works  here  "  (here  he  hastily  pro 
duced  a  bundle  of  papers  that  fell  upon  the  floor), 
"and  I'm  goin'  to  send  for  'em.  I've  got  the 
papers  here  as  will  give  me  ten  thousand  dollars 
clear  in  the  next  month,"  he  added,  as  he  strove 
to  collect  the  valuable  documents  again.  "  I'll 
have  'em  here  by  Christmas,  if  I  live ;  and  you 
shall  eat  your  Christmas  dinner  with  me,  York, 
my  boy,  —  you  shall  sure." 

With  his  tongue  now  fairly  loosened  by 
liquor  and  the  suggestive  vastness  of  his  pros 
pects,  he  rambled  on  more  or  less  incoherently, 
elaborating  and  amplifying  his  plans,  occa 
sionally  even  speaking  of  them  as  already  ac 
complished,  until  the  moon  rode  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  York  led  him  again  to  his  couch. 
Here  he  lay  for  some  time  muttering  to  himself, 
until  at  last  he  sank  into  a  heavy  sleep.  When 
York  had  satisfied  himself  of  the  fact,  he  gently 
took  down  the  picture  and  frame,  and,  going  to 
the  hearth,  tossed  them  on  the  dying  embers, 
and  sat  down  to  see  them  burn. 

The  fir-cones  leaped  instantly  into  flame ; 
then  the  features  that  had  entranced  San  Fran 
cisco  audiences  nightly,  flashed  up  and  passed 
away  (as  such  things  are  apt  to  pass) ;  and 
even  the  cynical  smile  on  York  s  lips  faded  too. 


128    HOW  OLD  MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME. 

And  then  there  came  a  supplemental  and  un 
expected  flash  as  the  embers  fell  together,  and 
by  its  light  York  saw  a  paper  upon  the  floor. 
It  was  one  that  had  fallen  from  the  old  man's 
pocket.  As  he  picked  it  up  listlessly,  a  photo 
graph  slipped  from  its  folds.  It  was  the  portrait 
of  a  young  girl ;  and  on  its  reverse  was  written 
in  a  scrawling  hand,  "  Melinda  to  father." 

It  was  at  best  a  cheap  picture,  but,  ah  me  !  I 
fear  even  the  deft  graciousness  of  the  highest 
art  could  not  have  softened  the  rigid  angulari 
ties  of  that  youthful  figure,  its  self-complacent 
vulgarity,  its  cheap  finery,  its  expressionless  ill- 
favor.  York  did  not  look  at  it  a  second  time. 
He  turned  to  the  letter  for  relief. 

It  was  misspelled;  it  was  unpunctuated ;  it 
was  almost  illegible ;  it  was  fretful  in  tone,  and 
selfish  in  sentiment.  It  was  not,  I  fear,  even 
original  in  the  story  of  its  woes.  It  was  the 
harsh  recital  of  poverty,  of  suspicion,  of  mean 
makeshifts  and  compromises,  of  low  pains  and 
lower  longings,  of  sorrows  that  were  degrading, 
of  a  grief  that  was  pitiable.  Yet  it  was  sincere 
in  a  certain  kind  of  vague  yearning  for  the 
presence  of  the  degraded  man  to  whom  it  was 
written,  —  an  affection  that  was  more  like  aeon- 
fused  instinct  than  a  sentiment. 

York  folded  it  again  carefull}7,  and  placed  it 
beneath  the  old  man's  pillow.  Then  he  re- 


HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUKKETT  WENT   HOME.    129 

turned  to  his  seat  by  the  fire.  A  smile  that  had 
been  playing  upon  his  face,  deepening  the  curves 
behind  his  mustache,  and  gradually  overrun 
ning  his  clear  gray  eyes,  presently  faded  away. 
It  was  last  to  go  from  his  eyes ;  and  it  left  there, 
oddly  enough  to  those  who  did  not  know  him, 
a  tear. 

He  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  leaning  forward, 
his  head  upon  his  hands.  The  wind  that  had 
been  striving  with  the  canvas  roof  all  at  once 
lifted  its  edges,  and  a  moonbeam  slipped  suddenly 
in,  and  lay  for  a  moment  like  a  shining  blade 
upon  his  shoulder ;  and,  knighted  by  its  touch, 
straightway  plain  Henry  York  arose,  sustained, 
high-purposed  and  self-reliant. 

The  rains  had  come  at  last.  There  was  al 
ready  a  visible  greenness  on  the  slopes  of  Heavy- 
tree  Hill ;  and  the  long,  white  track  of  the  Wing- 
dam  road  was  lost  in  outlying  pools  and  ponds 
a  hundred  rods  from  Monte  Flat.  The  spent 
water-courses,  whose  white  .bones  had  been  sin 
uously  trailed  over  the  flat,  like  the  vertebrae  of 
some  forgotten  saurian,  were  full  again ;  the 
dry  bones  moved  once  more  in  the  valley ;  and 
there  was  joy  in  the  ditches,  and  a  pardonable 
extravagance  in  the  columns  of  "  The  Monte  Flat 
Monitor."  "  Never  before  in  the  history  of  the 
county  has  the  yield  been  so  satisfactory.  Our 


130    HOW  OLD  MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT  HOME. 

contemporary  of  '  The  Hillside  Beacon,'  who 
yesterday  facetiously  alluded  to  the  fact  (?) 
that  our  best  citizens  were  leaving  town  in 
'  dugouts,'  on  account  of  the  flood,  will  be  glad 
to  hear  that  our  distinguished  fellow-townsman, 
Mr.  Henry  York,  now  on  a  visit  to  his  relatives 
in  the  East,  lately  took  with  him  in  his  '  dug 
out  '  the  modest  sum  of  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
the  result  of  one  week's  clean-up.  We  can 
imagine,"  continued  that  sprightly  journal,  "that 
no  such  misfortune  is  likely  to  overtake  Hillside 
this  season.  And  yet  we  believe  '  The  Beacon  ' 
man  wants  a  railroad."  A  few  journals  broke 
out  into  poetry.  The  operator  at  Simpson's 
Crossing  telegraphed  to  "  The  Sacramento  Uni 
verse  "  "  All  day  the  low  clouds  have  shook 
their  garnered  fulness  down."  A  San-Fran 
cisco  journal  lapsed  into  noble  verse,  thinly 
disguised  as  editorial  prose :  "  Rejoice :  the 
gentle  rain  has  come,  the  bright  and  pearly  rain, 
which  scatters  blessings  on  the  hills,  and  sifts 
them  o'  er  the  plain.  Rejoice,"  &c.  Indeed, 
there,  was  only  one  to  whom  the  rain  had  not 
brought  blessing,  and  that  was  Plunkett.  In 
«ome  mysterious  and  darksome  way,  it  had  in 
terfered  with  the  perfection  of  his  new  method 
of  reducing  ores,  and  thrown  the  advent  of 
that  invention  back  another  season.  It  had 
brought  him  down  to  an  habitual  seat  in  the 


HOW  OLD  MAN  PLTJNKETT  WENT  HOME.    131 

bar-room,  where,  to  heedless  and  inattentive 
ears,  he  sat  and  discoursed  of  the  East  and  his 
family. 

No  one  disturbed  him.  Indeed,  it  was  ru 
mored  that  some  funds  had  been  lodged  with 
the  landlord,  by  a  person*  or  persons  unknown, 
whereby  his  few  wants  were  provided  for.  His 
mania  —  for  that  was  the  charitable  construc 
tion  which  Monte  Flat  put  upon  his  conduct  — 
was  indulged,  even  to  the  extent  of  Monte  Flat's 
accepting  his  invitation  to  dine  with  his  family 
on  Christmas  Day,  —  an  invitation  extended 
frankly  to  every  one  with  whom  the  old  man 
drank  or  talked.  But  one  day,  to  everybody's 
astonishment,  he  burst  into  the  bar-room,  hold 
ing  an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  It  read  as  fol 
lows  :  — 

"  Be  ready  to  meet  your  family  at  the  new  cottage  on 
Heavytree  Hill  on  Christmas  Day.  Invite  what  friends 
you  choose. 

«  HENRY  YORK." 

The  letter  was  handed  round  in  silence.  The 
old  man,  with  a  look  alternating  between  hope 
and  fear,  gazed  in  the  faces  of  the  group.  The 
doctor  looked  up  significantly,  after  a  pause. 
"  It's  a  forgery  evidently,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  He's  cunning  enough  to  conceive  it 
(they  always  are)  ;  but  you'll  find  he'll  fail  in 


132    HOW  OLD   MAN  PLT7NKETT  WENT   HOME. 

executing  it.  Watch  his  face  !  —  Old  man,"  he 
said  suddenly,  in  a  loud  peremptory  tone,  "  this 
is  a  trick,  a  forgery,  and  you  know  it.  An 
swer  me  squarely,  and  look  me  in  the  eye.  Isn't 
it  so?" 

The  eyes  of  Plunkett  stared  a  moment,  and 
then  dropped  weakly.  Then,  with  a  feebler 
smile,  he  said,  "  You're  too  many  for  me,  boys. 
The  Doc's  right.  The  little  game's  up.  You 
can  take  the  old  man's  hat ;  "  and  so,  tottering, 
trembling,  and  chuckling,  he  dropped  into  si 
lence  and  his  accustomed  seat.  But  the  next 
day  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  this  episode, 
and  talked  as  glibly  as  ever  of  the  approaching 
festivity. 

And  so  the  days  and  weeks  passed  until 
Christmas  —  a  bright,  clear  day,  warmed  with 
south  winds,  and  joyous  with  the  resurrection 
of  springing  grasses  —  broke  upon  Monte  Flat. 
And  then  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  in  the 
hotel  bar-room ;  and  Abner  Dean  stood  beside 
the  old  man's  chair,  and  shook  Hm  out  of  a 
slumber  to  his  feet.  "  Rouse  up,  old  man.  York 
is  here,  with  your  wife  and  daughter,  at  the 
cottage  on  Heavytree.  Come,  old  man.  Here, 
boys,  give  him  a  lift ;  "  and  in  another  moment 
a  dozen  strong  and  willing  hands  had  raised  the 
old  man,  and  bore  him  in  triumph  to  the  street, 
up  the  steep  grade  of  Heavytree  Hill,  and  de- 


HOW  OLD  MAN  PLTJNKETT  WENT  HOME.     133 

posited  him,  struggling  and  confused,  in  the 
porch  of  a  little  cottage.  At  the  same  instant 
two  women  rushed  forward,  but  were  restrained 
by  a  gesture  from  Henry  York.  The  old  man 
was  struggling  to  his  feet.  With  an  effort  at 
last,  he  stood  erect,  trembling,  his  eye  fixed,  a 
gray  pallor  on  his  cheek,  and  a  deep  resonance 
in  his  voice. 

"  It's  all  a  trick,  and  a  lie  !  They  ain't  no 
flesh  and  blood  or  kin  o'  mine.  It  ain't  my 
wife,  nor  child.  My  daughter's  a  beautiful  girl 
—  a  beautiful  girl,  d'ye  hear  ?  She's  in  New  York 
with  her  mother,  and  I'm  going  to  fetch  her  here. 
I  said  I'd  go  home,  and  I've  been  home :  d'ye 
hear  me  ?  '  I've  been  home  !  It's  a  mean  trick 
you're  playin'  on  the  old  man.  Let  me  go  :  d'ye 
hear  ?  Keep  them  women  off  me  !  Let  me  go  ! 
I'm  going  —  I'm  going  —  home  !  " 

His  hands  were  thrown  up  convulsively  in 
the  air,  and,  half  turning  round,  he  fell  sideways 
on  the  porch,  and  so  to  the  "ground.  They 
picked  him  up  hurriedly,  but  too  late.  He  had 
gone  home. 


THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS. 

HE  lived  alone.  I  do  not  think  this 
peculiarity  arose  from  any  wish  to  with 
draw  his  foolishness  from  the  rest  of  the  camp  ; 
nor  was  it  probable  that  the  combined  wisdom 
of  Five  Forks  ever  drove  him  into  exile.  My 
impression  is,  that  he  lived  alone  from  choice,  — 
a  choice  he  made  long  before  the  camp  indulged 
in  any  criticism  of  his  mental  capacity.  He 
was  much  given  to  moody  reticence,  and, 
although  to  outward  appearances  a  strong  man, 
was  always  complaining  of  ill-health.  Indeed, 
one  theory  of  his  isolation  was,  that  it  afforded 
him  better  opportunities  for  taking  medicine,  of 
which  he  habitually  consumed  large  quantities. 
His  folly  first  dawned  upon  Five  Forks 
through  the  post-office  windows.  He  was,  for 
a  long  time,  the  only  man  who  wrote  home  by 
every  mail ;  his  letters  being  always  directed  to 
the  same  person,  —  a  woman.  Now,  it  so  hap 
pened  that  the  bulk  of  the  Five  Forks  corre 
spondence  was  usually  the  other  way.  There 
were  many  letters  received  (the  majority  being 

134 


THE   FOOL  OF   FIVE   FORKS.  135 

in  the  female  hand),  but  very  few  answered. 
The  men  received  them  indifferently,  or  as  a 
matter  of  course.  A  few  opened  and  read  them 
on  the  spot,  with  a  barely  repressed  smile  of 
self-conceit,  or  quite  as  frequently  glanced  ovei 
them  with  undisguised  impatience.  Some  of 
the  letters  began  with  4*  My  dear  husband ; "  and 
some  were  never  called  for.  But  the  fact  that 
the  only  regular  correspondent  of  Five  Forks 
never  received  any  reply  became  at  last  quite 
notorious.  Consequently,  when  an  envelope  was 
received,  bearing  the  stamp  of  the  "  dead  letter 
office,"  addressed  to  "  The  Fool,"  under  the 
more  conventional  title  of  "  Cyrus  Hawkins," 
there  was  quite  a  fever  of  excitement.  I  do 
not  know  how  the  secret  leaked  out ;  but  it  was 
eventually  known  to  the  camp,  that  the  enve 
lope  contained  Hawkins's  own  letters  returned. 
This  was  the  first  evidence  of  his  weakness. 
Any  man  who  repeatedly  wrote  to  a  woman  who 
did  not  reply  must  be  a  fool.  I  think  Haw 
kins  suspected  that  his  folly  was  known  to  the 
camp ;  but  he  took  refuge  in  symptoms  of  chills 
and  fever,  which  he  at  once  developed^  and 
effected  a  diversion  with  three  bottles  of  Indian 
cholagogue  and  two  boxes  of  pills.  At  all 
events,  at  the  end  of  a  week,  he  resumed  a  pen 
stiffened  by  tonics,  with  all  his  old  epistolatory 
pertinacity.  This  time  the  letters  had  a  new 
address. 


136  THE  FOOL  OF   FIVE  FORKS. 

In  those  days  a  popular  belief  obtained  in 
the  mines,  that  luck  particularly  favored  the 
foolish  and  unscientific.  Consequently,  when 
Hawkins  struck  a  "  pocket "  in  the  hillside  near 
his  solitary  cabin,  there  was  but  little  surprise. 
"  He  will  sink  it  all  in  the  next  hole  "  was  the 
prevailing  belief,  predicated  upon  the  usual 
manner  in  which  the  possessor  of  "  nigger 
luck  "  disposed  of  his  fortune.  To  everybody's 
astonishment,  Hawkins,  after  taking  out  about 
eight  thousand  dollars,  and  exhausting  the 
pocket,  did  not  prospect  for  another.  The 
camp  then  waited  patiently  to  see  what  he 
would  do  with  his  money.  I  think,  however,  that 
it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  their  indigna 
tion  was  kept  from  taking  the  form  of  a  personal 
assault  when  it  became  known  that  he  had 
purchased  a  draft  for  eight  thousand  dollars,  in 
favor  of  "  that  woman."  More  than  this,  it 
was  finally  whispered  that  the  draft  was  returned 
to  him  as  his  letters  had  been,  and  that  he  was 
ashamed  to  reclaim  the  money  at  the  express- 
office.  "  It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  specilation  to  go 
East,  get  some  smart  gal,  for  a  hundred  dollars, 
to  dress  herself  up  and  represent  that  '  Hag,' 
and  jest  freeze  onto  that  eight  thousand,"  sug 
gested  a  far-seeing  financier.  I  may  state  here, 
that  we  always  alluded  to  Hawkins's  fair  un 
known  as  the  "  Hag  "  without  having,  I  am 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS.  137 

confident,  the   least  justification   for  that  epi 
thet. 

That  the  "  Fool "  should  gamble  seemed  emi 
nently  fit  and  proper.  That  he  should  occasion 
ally  win  a  large  stake,  according  to  that  popular 
theory  which  I  have  recorded  in  the  preceding 
paragraph,  appeared,  also,  a  not  improbable  or 
inconsistent  fact.  That  he  should,  however, 
break  the  faro  bank  which  Mr.  John  Hamliii 
had  set  up  in  Five  Forks,  and  carry  off  a  sum 
variously  estimated  at  from  ten  to  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  not  return  the  next  day,  and 
lose  the  money  at  the  same  table,  really 
appeared  incredible.  Yet  such  was  the  fact. 
A  day  or  two  passed  without  any  known  invest 
ment  of  Mr.  Hawkins's  recently-acquired  cap 
ital.  "  Ef  he  allows  to  send  it  to  that '  Hag,'  " 
said  one  prominent  citizen,  "  suthin'  ought  to 
be  done.  It's  jest  ruinin'  the  reputation  of 
this  yer  camp,  —  this  sloshin'  around  o'  capital 
on  non-residents  ez  don't  claim  it ! "  "  It's 
settin'  an  example  o'  extravagance,"  said 
another,  "  ez  is  little  better  nor  a  swindle. 
Thais  mor'n  five  men  in  this  camp,  thet,  hearin' 
thet  Hawkins  lied  sent  home  eight  thousand 
dollars,  must  jest  rise  up  and  send  home  their 
hard  earnings  too  !  And  then  to  think  thet 
thet  eight  thousand  was  only  a  bluff,  after  all, 
and  thet  it's  lyin'  there  on  call"  in  Adams  & 


138  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE  FORKS. 

Co.'s  bank !  Well,  I  say  it's  one  o'  them  things 
a  vigilance  committee  oughter  look  into." 

When  there  seemed  no  possibility  of  this 
repetition  of  Hawkins's  folly,  the  anxiety  to 
know  what  he  had  really  done  with  his  money 
became  intense.  At  last  a  self-appointed  com 
mittee  of  four  citizens  dropped  artfully,  but  to 
outward  appearances  carelessly,  upon  him  in  his 
seclusion.  When  some  polite  formalities  had 
been  exchanged,  and  some  easy  vituperation 
of  a  backward  season  offered  by  each  of  the 
parties,-  Tom  Wingate  approached  the  subject. 

"  Sorter  dropped  heavy  on  Jack  Hamlin  the 
other  night,  didn't  ye  ?  He  allows  you  didn't 
give  him  no  show  for  revenge.  I  said  you 
wasn't  no  such  d — d  fool ;  didn't  I,  Dick  ?  " 
continued  the  artful  Wingate,  appealing  to  a 
confederate. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick  promptly.  "  You  said 
twenty  thousand  dollars  wasn't  goin'  to  be 
thrown  around  recklessly.  You  said  Cyrus  had 
suthin'  better  to  do  with  his  capital,"  super- 
added  Dick  with  gratuitous  mendacity.  "  I  dis- 
remember  now  what  partickler  investment  you 
said  hs  was  goin'  to  make  with  it,"  he  con 
tinued,  appealing  with  easy  indifference  to  his 
friend. 

Of  course  Wingate  did  not  reply,  but  looked 
at  the  "  Fool,"  who,  with  a  troubled  face,  wan 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS.  139 

rubbing  his  legs  softly.  After  a  pause,  he 
turned  deprecatkigly  toward  his  visitors. 

"Ye  didn't  enny  of  ye  ever  hev  a  sort  of 
tremblin'  in  your  legs,  a  kind  o'  shakiness 
from  the  knee  down  ?  Suthin',' '  he  continued, 
slightly  brightening  with  his  topic,  —  "  suthin' 
that  begins  like  chills,  and  yet  ain't  chills?  A 
kind  o'  sensation  of  goneness  here,  and  a  kind 
o'  feelin'  as  if  you  might  die  suddint  ?  —  when 
Wright's  Pills  don't  somehow  reach  the  spot, 
and  quinine  don't  fetch  you  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  Wingate  with  a  curt  directness, 
and  the  air  of  authoritatively  responding  for  his 
friends,  —  "  no,  never  had.  You  was  speakin' 
of  this  yer  investment." 

"And  your  bowels  all  the  time  irregular?" 
continued  Hawkins,  blushing  under  Wingate's 
eye,  and  yet  clinging  despairingly  to  his  theme, 
like  a  shipwrecked  mariner  to  his  plank. 

Wingate  did  not  reply,  but  glanced  signifi 
cantly  at  the  rest.  Hawkins  evidently  saw  this 
recognition  of  his  mental  deficiency,  and  said 
apologetically,  "  You  was  saying  suthin'  about 
my  investment  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Wingate,  so  rapidly  as  to  almost 
take  Hawkins's  breath  away,  —  "  the  investment 
you  made  in  "  — 

"  Rafferty's  Ditch,"  said  the  "  Fool  "  timidly. 

For  a  moment,  the  visitors  could  only  stare 


140  THE  FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS. 

blankly  at  each  other.  "  Rafferty's  Ditch,"  the 
one  notorious  failure  of  Five  Fcffks !  —  Rafferty's 
Ditch,  the  impracticable  scheme  of  an  utterly 
unpractical  man  !  —  Rafferty's  Ditch,  a  ridicu 
lous  plan  for  taking  water  that  could  not  be 
got  to  a  place  where  it  wasn't  wanted !  —  Raff 
erty's  Ditch,  that  had  buried  the  fortunes  of 
Rafferty  and  twenty  wretched  stockholders  in 
its  muddy  depths ! 

"  And  thet's  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  Wingate,  after  a 
gloomy  pause.  "  Thet's  it !  I  see  it  all  now, 
boys.  That's  how  ragged  Pat  Rafferty  went 
down  to  San  Francisco  yesterday  in  store- 
clothes,  and  his  wife  and  four  children  went  off 
in  a  kerridge  to  Sacramento.  Thet's  why  them 
ten  workmen  of  his,  ez  hadn't  a  cent  to  bless 
themselves  with,  was  playin'  billiards  last  night, 
and  eatin'  isters.  Thet's  whar  that  money  kum 
frum,  —  one  hundred  dollars  to  pay  for  the 
long  advertisement  of  the  new  issue  of  ditch, 
stock  in  the  "  Times  "  yesterday.  Thet's  why 
them  six  strangers  were  booked  at  the  Magnolia 
Hotel  yesterday.  Don't  you  see?  It's  thet 
money  —  and  that  '  Fool ' !  " 

The  "  Fool "  sat  silent.  The  visitors  rose 
without  a  word. 

"  You  never  took  any  of  them  Indian  Vege 
table  Pills?"  asked  Hawkins  timidly  of  Win- 
gate. 


THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FOKKS*       141 

"  No ! "  roared  Wingate  as  he  opened  the 
door. 

"  They  tell  me,  that,  took  with  the  Panacea,  — 
they  was  out  o'  the  Panacea  when  I  went  to  the 
drug-store  last  week, — they  say,  that,  took  with 
the  Panacea,  they  always  effect  a  certin  cure." 
But  by  this  time,  Wingate  and  his  disgusted 
friends  had  retreated,  slamming  the  door  on 
the  "  Fool  "  and  his  ailments. 

Nevertheless,  in  six  months  the  whole  affair 
was  forgotten  :  the  money  had  been  spent ;  the 
"  Ditch  "  had  been  purchased  by  a  company  of 
Boston  capitalists,  fired  by  the  glowing  descrip 
tion  of  an  Eastern  tourist,  who  had  spent  one 
drunken  night  at  Five  Forks;  and  I  think 
even  the  mental  condition  of  Hawkins  might 
have  remained  undisturbed  by  criticism,  but  for 
a  singular  incident. 

It  was  during  an  exciting  political  campaign, 
when  party-feeling  ran  high,  that  the  irascible 
Capt.  McFadden  of  Sacramento  visited  Five 
Forks.  During  a  heated  discussion  in  the 
Prairie  Rose  Saloon,  words  passed  between  the 
captain  and  the  Hon.  Calhoun  Bungstarter, 
ending  in  a  challenge.  The  captain  bore  the  in 
felicitous  reputation  of  being  a  notorious  duellist 
and  a  dead-shot.  The  captain  was  unpopular. 
The  captain  was  believed  to  have  been  sent  by 
the  opposition  for  a  deadly  purpose ;  and  the 


142  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE  FORKS. 

captain  was,  moreover,  a  stranger.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  with  Five  Forks  this  latter  condi 
tion  did  not  carry  the  quality  of  sanctity  or 
reverence  that  usually  obtains  among  other 
nomads.  There  was,  consequently,  some  little 
hesitation  when  the  captain  turned  upon  the 
crowd,  and  asked  for  some  one  to  act  as  his 
friend.  To  everybody's  astonishment,  and  to 
the  indignation  of  many,  the  "  Fool  "  stepped 
forward,  and  offered  himself  in  that  capacity. 
I  do  not  know  whether  Capt.  McFadden  would 
have  chosen  him  voluntarily ;  but  he  was  con 
strained^  in  the  absence  of  a  better  man,  to 
accept  his  services. 

The  duel  never  took  place.  The  prelimina 
ries  were  all  arranged,  the  spot  indicated ;  the 
men  were  present  with  their  seconds ;  there 
was  no  interruption  from  without ;  there  was  no 
explanation  or  apology  passed  —  but  the  duel 
did  not  take  place.  It  may  be  readily  imagined 
that  these  facts,  which  were  all  known  to  Five 
Forks,  threw  the  whole  community  into  a  fever 
of  curiosity.  The  principals,  the  surgeon,  and 
one  second  left  town  the  next  day.  Only  the 
"  Fool "  remained.  He  resisted  all  questioning, 
declaring  himself  held  in  honor  not  to  divulge  : 
in  short,  conducted  himself  with  consistent 
but  exasperating  folly.  It  was  not  until  six 
months  had  passed,  that  Col.  Starbottle,  the 


THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS.      143 

second  of  Calhoun  Bungstarter,  in  a  moment  of 
•weakness,  superinduced  by  the  social  glass, 
condescended  to  explain.  I  should  not  do 
justice  to  the  parties,  if  I  did  not  give  that 
explanation  in  the  colonel's  own  words.  I  may 
remark,  in  passing,  that  the  characteristic 
dignity  of  Col.  Starbottle  always  became  inten 
sified  by  stimulants,  and  that,  by  the  same 
process,  all  sense  of  humor  was  utterly  elimi 
nated. 

"  With  the  understanding  that  I  am  address 
ing  myself  confidentially  to  men  of  honor," 
said  the  colonel,  elevating  his  chest  above  the 
bar-room  counter  of  the  Prairie  Rose  Saloon, 
"  I  trust  that  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  me  to 
protect  myself  from  levity,  as  I  was  forced  to 
do  in  Sacramento  on  the  only  other  occasion 
when  I  entered  into  an  explanation  of  this 
delicate  affair  by  —  er  —  er  —  calling  the  indi 
vidual  to  a  personal  account  —  er.  I  do  not 
believe,"  added  the  colonel,  slightly  waving  his 
glass  of  liquor  in  the  air  with  a  graceful  gesture 
of  courteous  deprecation,  "  knowing  what  I 
do  of  the  present  company,  that  such  a  course 
of  action  is  required  here.  Certainly  not, 
sir,  in  the  home  of  Mr.  Hawkins  —  er  —  the 
gentleman  who  represented  Mr.  Bungstarter, 
whose  conduct,  ged,  sir,  is  worthy  of  praise, 
olaiik  me ! " 


144  THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS 

Apparently  satisfied  with  the.  gravity  and 
respectful  attention  of  his  listeners,  Col.  Star- 
bottle  smiled  relentingly  and  sweetly,  closed  his 
eyes  half-dreamily,  as  if  to  recall  his  wandering 
thoughts,  and  began,  — 

"  As  the  spot  selected  was  nearest  the  tene 
ment  of  Mr.  Hawkins,  it  was  agreed  that 
the  parties  should  meet  there.  They  did  so 
promptly  at  half-past  six.  The  morning  being 
chilly,  Mr.  Hawkins  extended  the  hospitalities 
of  his  house  with  a  bottle  of  Bourbon  whiskey, 
of  which  all  partook  but  myself.  The  reason 
for  that  exception  is,  I  believe,  well  known.  It 
is  my  invariable  custom  to  take  brandy  —  a 
wineglassful  in  a  cup  of  strong  coffee  —  imme 
diately  on  rising.  >  It  stimulates  the  functions, 
sir,  without  producing  any  blank  derangement 
of  the  nerves." 

The  barkeeper,  to  whom,  as  an  expert,  the 
colonel  had  graciously  imparted  this  informa 
tion,  nodded  approvingly;  and  the  colonel,  amid 
a  breathless  silence,  went  on. 

"  We  were  about  twenty  minutes  in  reaching 
the  spot.  The  ground  was  measured,  the 
weapons  were  loaded,  when  Mr.  Bungstarter 
confided  to  me  the  information  that  he  was 
unwell,  and  in  great  pain.  On  consultation 
with  Mr.  Hawkins,  it  appeared  that  his  prin 
cipal,  in  a  distant  part  of  the  field,  was  also 


THE  FOOL  OF   FIVE  FOEKS.  145 

suffering,  and  in  great  pain.  The  symptoms 
were  such  as  a  medical  man  would  pronounce 
'  choleraic.'  I  say  would  have  pronounced ;  for, 
on  examination,  the  surgeon  was  also  found  to 
be  —  er — in.  pain,  and,  I  regret  to  say,  express 
ing  himself  in  language  unbecoming  the  occa 
sion.  His  impression  was,  that  some  powerful 
drug  had  been  administered.  On  referring  the 
question  to  Mr.  Hawkins,  he  remembered  that 
the  bottle  of  whiskey  partaken  by  them  con 
tained  a  medicine  which  he  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  taking,  but  which,  having  failed  to 
act  upon  him,  he  had  concluded  to  be  generally 
ineffective,  and  had  forgotten.  His  perfect 
willingness  to  hold  himself  personally  respon 
sible  to  each  of  the  parties,  his  genuine  concern 
at  the  disastrous  effect  of  the  mistake,  mingled 
with  his  own  alarm  at  the  state  of  his  system, 

which  —  er  —  failed   to  —  er  —  respond  to    the 

* 

peculiar  qualities  of  the  medicine,  was  mosiT 
becoming  to  him  as  a  man  of  honor  and  a 
gentleman.  After  an  hour's  delay,  both  prin 
cipals  being  completely  exhausted,  and  aban 
doned  by  the  surgeon,  who  was  unreasonably 
alarmed  at  his  own  condition,  Mr.  Hawkins  and 
I  agreed  to  remove  our  men  to  Markleville. 
There,  after  a  further  consultation  with  Mr. 
Hawkins,  an  amicable  adjustment  of  all  difficul 
ties,  honorable  to  both  parties,  and  governed  by 


146  THE  FOOL  OP   FIVE   FORKS. 

profound  secrecy,  was  arranged.  I  believe," 
added  the  colonel,  looking  around,  and  setting 
down  his  glass,  "no  gentleman  has  yet  ex 
pressed  himself  other  than  satisfied  with  the 
result." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  colonel's  manner ;  but, 
whatever  was  the  opinion  of  Five  Forks  regard 
ing  the  intellectual  display  of  Mr.  Hawkins  in 
this  affair,  there  was  very  little  outspoken 
criticism  at  the  moment.  In  a  few  weeks  the 
whole  thing  was  forgotten,  except  as  part  of 
the  necessary  record  of  Hawkins's  blunders, 
which  was  already  a  pretty  full  one.  Again, 
some  later  follies  conspired  to  obliterate  the 
past,  until,  a  year  later,  a  valuable  lead  was 
discovered  in  the  "  Blazing  Star  "  tunnel,  in  the 
hill  where  he  lived;  and  a  large  sum  was 
offered  him  for  a  portion  of  his  land  on  the  hill 
top.  Accustomed  as  Five  Forks  had  become  to 
the  exhibition  of  his  folly,  it  was  with  astonish 
ment  that  they  learned  that  he  resolutely  and 
decidedly  refused  the  offer.  The  reason  that  he 
gave  was  still  more  astounding,  —  he  was  abou  t 
to  build. 

To  build  a  house  upon  property  available  for 
mining-purposes  was  preposterous ;  to  build  at 
all,  with  a  roof  already  covering  him,  was  an 
act  of  extravagance;  to  build  a  house  of  the 
style  he  proposed  was  simply  madness. 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS.  147 

Yet  here  were  facts.  The  plans  were  made, 
and  the  lumber  for  the  new  building  was 
already  on  the  ground,  while  the  shaft  of  the 
"  Blazing  Star  "  was  being  sunk  below.  The 
site  was,  in  reality,  a  very  picturesque  one, 
the  building  itself  of  a  style  and  quality 
hitherto  unknown  in  Five  Forks.  The  citizens, 
at  first  sceptical,  during  their  moments  of 
recreation  and  idleness  gathered  doubtingly 
about  the  locality.  Day  by  day,  in  that  climate 
of  rapid  growths,  the  building,  pleasantly 
known  in  the  slang  of  Five  Forks  as  the  "  Idiot 
Asylum,"  rose  beside  the  green  oaks  and  clus 
tering  firs  of  Hawkins  Hill,  as  if  it  were  part 
of  the  natural  phenomena.  At  last  it  was 
completed.  Then  Mr.  Hawkins  proceeded  to 
furnish  it  with  an  expensiveness  and  extrava 
gance  of  outlay  quite  in  keeping  with  his 
former  idiocy.  Carpets,  sofas,  mirrors,  and 
finally  a  piano,  —  the  only  one  known  in  the 
county,  and  brought  at  great  expense  from 
Sacramento,  —  kept  curios^  at  a  fever-heat. 
More  than  that,  there  were  articles  and  orna 
ments  which  a  few  married  experts  declared 
only  fit  for  women.  When  the  furnishing  of 
the  house  was  complete,  —  it  had  occupied  two 
months  of  the  speculative  and  curious  attention 
of  the  camp,  —  Mr.  Hawkins  locked  the  front 
door,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  quietly 


148  THE   FOOL  OF   FIVE  FORKS. 

retired  to  Ms  more  humble  roof,  lower  on  the 
hillside. 

I  have  not  deemed  it  necessary  to  indicate)  to 
the  intelligent  reader  all  of  the  theories  which 
obtained  in  Five  Forks  during  the  erection  of 
the  building.  Some  of  them  may  be  readily 
imagined.  That  the  "  Hag "  had,  by  artful 
coyness  and  systematic  reticence,  at  last  com 
pletely  subjugated  the  "Fool,"  and  that  the  new 
house  was  intended  for  the  nuptial  bower  of  the 
(predestined)  unhappy  pair,  was,  of  course,  the 
prevailing  opinion.  But  when,  after  a  rea 
sonable  time  had  elapsed,  and  the  house  still 
remained  untenanted,  the  more  exasperating 
conviction  forced  itself  upon  the  general  mind, 
that  the  "  Fool"  had  been  for  the  third  time  im 
posed  upon ;  when  two  months  had  elapsed, 
and  there  seemed  no  prospect  of  a  mistress  for 
the  new  house,  —  I  think  public  indignation  be 
came  so  strong,  that,  had  the  "  Hag "  arrived, 
the  marriage  would  have  been  publicly  pre 
vented.  But  no  one  appeared  that  seemed  to  an 
swer  to  this  idea  of  an  available  tenant;  and  all 
inquiry  of  Mr.  Hawkins  as  to  his  intention  in 
building  a  house,  and  not  renting  it,  or  occu 
pying  it,  failed  to  elicit  any  further  information. 
The  reasons  that  he  gave  were  felt  to  be  vague, 
evasive,  and  unsatisfactory.  He  was  in  no  hurry 
to  move,  he  said.  When  he  was  ready,  it  surely 


THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS.  149 

was  not  strange  that  he  should  like  to  have  his 
house  all  ready  to  receive  him.  He  was  often 
seen  upon  the  veranda,  of  a  summer  evening, 
smoking  a  cigar.  It  is  reported  that  one  night 
the  house  was  observed  to  be  brilliantly  lighted 
from  garret  to  basement ;  that  a  neighbor,  observ 
ing  this,  crept  toward  the  open  parlor-window, 
and,  looking  in,  espied  the  "Fool"  accurately 
dressed  in  evening  costume,  lounging  upon  a  sofa 
in  the  drawing-room,  with  the  easy  air  of  socially 
entertaining  a  large  party.  Notwithstanding 
this,  the  house  was  unmistakably  vacant  that 
evening,  save  for  the  presence  of  the  owner,  as 
the  witness  afterward  testified.  When  this 
story  was  first  related,  a  few  practical  men  sug 
gested  the  theory  that  Mr.  Hawkins  was  simply 
drilling  himself  in  the  elaborate  duties  of  hos 
pitality  against  a  probable  event  in  his  history. 
A  few  ventured  the  belief  that  the  house  was 
haunted.  The  imaginative  editor  of  the  Five 
Forks  "Record"  evolved  from  the  depths  of 
his  professional  consciousness  a  story  that  Haw 
kins's  sweetheart  had  died,  and  that  he  regu 
larly  entertained  her  spirit  in  this  beautifully 
furnished  mausoleum.  The  occasional  spectacle 
of  Hawkins's  tall  figure  pacing  the  veranda  on 
moonlight  nights  lent  some  credence  to  this 
theory,  until  an  unlooked-for  incident  diverted 
all  speculation  into  another  channel. 


150  THE  FOOL   OF  FIVE  FORKS. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  a  certain  wild, 
rude  valley,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Five  Forks, 
liad  become  famous  as  a  picturesque  resort. 
Travellers  had  visited  it,  and  declared  that  there 
were  more  cubic  yards  of  rough  stone  cliff,  and 
a  waterfall  of  greater  height,  than  any  they  had 
visited.  Correspondents  had  written  it  up  with 
extravagant  rhetoric  and  inordinate  poetical 
quotation.  Men  and  women  who  had  never 
enjoyed  a  sunset,  a  tree,  or  a  flower,  who  had 
never  appreciated  the  graciousness  or  meaning 
of  the  yellow  sunlight  that  flecked  their  homely 
doorways,  or  the  tenderness  of  a  midsummer's 
night,  to  whose  moonlight  they  bared  their 
shirt-sleeves  or  their  tulle  dresses,  came  from 
thousands  of  miles  away  to  calculate  the  height 
of  this  rock,  to  observe  the  depth  of  this  chasm, 
to  remark  upon  the  enormous  size  of  this 
unsightly  tree,  and  to  believe  with  ineffable 
self-complacency  that  they  really  admired 
Nature.  And  so  it  came  to  pass,  that,  in  accord 
ance  with  the  tastes  or  weaknesses  of  the  indi 
vidual,  the  more  prominent  and  salient  points 
of  the  valley  were  christened ;  and  there  was  a 
"  Lace  Handkerchief  Fall,"  and  the  "  Tears  of 
Sympathy  Cataract,'1  and  one  distinguished 
orator's  "  Peak,"  and  several  "  Mounts "  of 
various  noted  people,  living  or  dead,  and  an 
"  Exclamation-Point,"  and  a  "  Valley  of  Silent 


THE   FOOL  OF  FIVE   FORKS.  151 

Adoration."  And,  in  course  of  time,  empty 
soda-water  bottles  were  found  at  the  base  of  the 
cataract,  and  greasy  newspapers,  and  fragments 
of  ham-sandwiches,  lay  at  the  dusty  roots  of 
giant  trees.  With  this,  there  were  frequent 
irruptions  of  closely-shaven  and  tightly-cravated 
men,  and  delicate,  flower-faced  women,  in  the 
one  long  street  of  Five  Forks,  and  a  scamper 
ing  of  mules,  and  an  occasional  procession  of 
dusty  brown-linen  cavalry. 

A  year  after  "  Hawkins's  Idiot  Asylum  "  was 
completed,  one  day  there,  drifted  into  the  valley 
a  riotous  cavalcade  of  "  school-marms,"  teachers 
of  the  San-Francisco  public  schools,  out  for  a 
holiday.  Not  severely-spectacled  Minervas,  and 
chastely  armed  and  mailed  Pallases,  but,  I  fear, 
for  the  security  of  Five  Forks,  very  human, 
charming,  and  mischievous  young  women.  At 
least,  so  the  men  thought,  working  in  the 
ditches,  and  tunnelling  on  the  hillside ;  and 
when,  in  the  interests  of  science,  and  the  mental 
advancement  of  juvenile  posterity,  it  was  finally 
settled  that  they  should  stay  in  Five  Forks  two 
or  three  days  for  the  sake  of  visiting  the  various 
mines,  and  particularly  the  "  Blazing  Star " 
tunnel,  there  was  some  flutter  of  masculine 
anxiety.  There  was  a  considerable  inquiry  for 
"store-clothes,"  a  hopeless  overhauling  of  old 
and  disused  raiment,  and  a  general  demand  foi 
"boiled  shirts"  and  the  barber. 


152  THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE   FORKS. 

Meanwhile,  with  that  supreme  audacity  and 
impudent  hardihood  of  the  sex  when  gregarious, 
the  school-marms  rode  through  the  town,  admir 
ing  openly  the  handsome  faces  and  manly 
figures  that  looked  up  from  the  ditcher-,  or  rose 
behind  the  cars  of  ore  at  the  mouths  of  tunnels. 
Indeed,  it  is  alleged  that  Jenny  Forester,  backed 
and  supported  by  seven  other  equally  shameless 
young  women,  had  openly  and  publicly  waved 
her  handkerchief  to  the  florid  Hercules  of  Five 
Forks,  one  Tom  Flynn,  formerly  of  Virginia, 
leaving  that  good-natured  but  not  over-bright 
giant  pulling  his  blonde  mustaches  in  bashful 
amazement. 

It  was  a  pleasant  June  afternoon  that  Miss 
Milly  Arnot,  principal  of  the  primary  depart 
ment  of  one  of  the  public  schools  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  having  evaded  her  companions,  resolved 
to  put  into  operation  a  plan  which  had  lately 
sprung  up  in  her  courageous  and  mischief-loving 
fancy.  With  that  wonderful  and  mysterious 
instinct  of  her  sex,  from  whom  no  secrets  of 
the  affections  are  hid,  and  to  whom  all  hearts 
are  laid  open,  she  had  heard  the  story  of  Haw 
kins's  folly,  and  the  existence  of  the  "Idiot 
Asylum."  Alone,  on  Hawkins  Hill,  she  had 
determined  to  penetrate  its  seclusion.  Skirting 
the  underbrush  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  she 
managed  to  keep  the  heaviest  timber  between 


THE   FOOL   OF  FIVE   FORKS.  153 

herself  and  the  "  Blazing  Star  "  tunnel  at  its 
base,  as  well  as  the  cabin  of  Hawkins,  half-way 
up  the  ascent,  until,  by  a  circuitous  route, 
at  last  she  reached,  unobserved,  the  summit. 
Before  her  rose,  silent,  darkened,  and  motion 
less,  the  object  of  her  search.  Here  her 
courage  failed  her,  with  all  the  characteristic 
inconsequence  of  her  sex.  A  sudden  fear  of 
all  the  dangers  she  had  safely  passed  —  bears, 
tarantulas,  drunken  men,  and  lizards  —  came 
upon  her.  For  a  moment,  as  she  afterward 
expressed  it,  "  she  thought  she  should  die." 
With  this  belief,  probably,  she  gathered  three 
large  stones,  which  she  could  hardly  lift,  for  the 
purpose  of  throwing  a  great  distance ;  put  two 
hair-pins  in  her  mouth ;  and  carefully  re-adjusted 
with  both  hands  two  stray  braids  of  her  lovely 
blue-black  mane,  which  had  fallen  in  gathering 
the  stones.  Then  she  felt  in  the  pockets  of  her 
linen  duster  for  her  card-case,  handkerchief, 
pocket-book,  and  smelling-bottle,  and,  rinding 
them  intact,  suddenly  assumed  an  air  of  easy, 
ladylike  unconcern,  went  up  the  steps  of  the 
veranda,  and  demurely  pulled  the  front  door 
bell,  which  she  knew  would  not  be  answered. 
After  a  decent  pause,  she  walked  around  the 
encompassing  veranda,  examining  the  closed 
shutters  of  the  French  windows  until  she  found 
one  that  yielded  to  her  touch.  Here  she  paused 


154  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS. 

again  to  adjust  her  coquettish  hat  by  the 
mirror-like  surface  of  the  long  sash-window, 
that  reflected  the  full  length  of  her  pretty 
figure.  And  then  she  opened  the  window,  and 
entered  the  room. 

Although  long  closed,  the  house  had  a  smell 
of  newness  and  of  fresh  paint,  that  was  quite  un 
like  the  mouldiness  of  the  conventional  haunted 
house.  The  bright  carpets,  the  cheerful  walls, 
the  glistening  oil-cloths,  were  quite  inconsistent 
with  the  idea  of  a  ghost.  With  childish  curios 
ity,  she  began  to  explore  the  silent  house,  at  first 
timidly,  —  opening  the  doors  with  a  violent  push, 
and  then  stepping  back  from  the  threshold  to 
make  good  a  possible  retreat,  —  and  then  more 
boldly,  as  she  became  convinced  of  her  security 
and  absolute  loneliness.  In  one  of  the  cham 
bers  —  the  largest  —  there  were  fresh  flowers  in 
a  vase,  evidently  gathered  that  morning ;  and, 
what  seemed  still  more  remarkable,  the  pitchers 
and  ewers  were  freshly  filled  with  water.  This 
obliged  Miss  Milly  to  notice  another  singular 
fact,  namely,  that  the  house  was  free  from  dust, 
the  one  most  obtrusive  and  penetrating  visitor 
of  Five  Forks.  The  floors  and  carpets  had  been 
recently  swept,  the  chairs  and  furniture  carefully 
wiped  and  dusted.  If  the  house  was  haunted, 
it  was  possessed  by  a  spirit  who  had  none  of  the 
usual  indifference  to  decay  and  mould.  And  yet 


THE    FOOL    OF   FIVE   FOEKS.  15£ 

the  beds  had  evidently  never  been  slept  in ,  the 
very  springs  of  the  chair  in  which  she  sat 
creaked  stiffly  at  the  novelty ;  the  closet-doors 
opened  with  the  reluctance  of  fresh  paint  and 
varnish ;  and  in  spite  of  the  warmth,  cleanli 
ness,  and  cheerfulness  of  furniture  and  decora 
tion,  there  was  none  of  the  ease  of  tenancy  and 
occupation.  As  Miss  Milly  afterward  confessed, 
she  longed  to  "  tumble  things  around ;"  and,  when 
she  reached  the  parlor  or  drawing-i'oom  again, 
she  could  hardly  resist  the  desire.  Particularly 
was  she  tempted  by  a  closed  piano,  that  stood 
mutely  against  the  wall.  She  thought  she  would 
open  it  just  to  see  who  was  the  maker.  That 
done,  it  would  be  no  harm  to  try  its  tone.  She 
did  so,  with  one  little  foot  on  the  soft  pedal. 
But  Miss  Milly  was  too  good  a  player,  and  too 
enthusiastic  a  musician,  to  stop  at  half-measures. 
She  tried  it  again,  this  time  so  sincerely,  that 
the  whole  house  seemed  to  spring  into  voice. 
Then  she  stopped  and  listened.  There  was  no 
response :  the  empty  rooms  seemed  to  have  re 
lapsed  into  their  old  stillness.  She  stepped  out 
on  the  veranda.  A  woodpecker  recommenced  his 
tapping  on  an  adjacent  tree  :  the  rattle  of  a  cart 
in  the  rocky  gulch  below  the  hill  came  faintly 
up.  No  one  was  to  be  seen  far  or  near.  Miss 
Milly,  re-assured,  returned.  She  again  ran  her 
fingers  over  the  keys,  stopped,  caught  at  a  mel- 


156  THE   FOOL    OF   FIVE   FORKS. 

ody  running  in  her  mind,  half  played  it,  and 
then  threw  away  all  caution.  Before  five  min 
utes  had  elapsed,  she  had  entirely  forgotten  her 
self,  and  with  her  linen  duster  thrown  aside, 
her  straw  hat  flung  on  the  piano,  her  white 
hands  bared,  and  a  black  loop  of  her  braided 
hair  hanging  upon  her  shoulder,  was  fairly 
embarked  upon  a  flowing  sea  of  musical  recol 
lection. 

She  had  played,  perhaps,  half  an  hour,  when 
having  just  finished  an  elaborate  symphony,  and 
resting  her  hands  on  the  keys,  she  heard  very 
distinctly  and  unmistakably  the  sound  of  ap 
plause  from  without.  In  an  instant  the  fires  of 
shame  and  indignation  leaped  into  her  cheeks; 
and  she  rose  from  the  instrument,  and  ran  to  the 
window,  only  in  time  to  catch  sight  of  a  dozen 
figures  in  blue  and  red  flannel  shirts  vanishing 
hurriedly  through  the  trees  below. 

Miss  Milly's  mind  was  instantly  made  up.  I 
think  I  have  already  intimated,  that,  under  the 
stimulus  of  excitement,  she  was  not  wanting  in 
courage  ;  and  as  she  quietly  resumed  her  gloves, 
hat,  and  duster,  she  was  not,  perhaps,  exactly 
the  young  person  that  it  would  be  entirely  safe 
for  the  timid,  embarrassed,  or  inexperienced  of 
my  sex  to  meet  alone.  She  shut  down  the 
piano  ;  and  having  carefully  reclosed  all  the 
windows  and  doors,  and  restored  the  house  to 


THE   FOOL    OF   FIVE   FORKS.  157 

its  former  desolate  condition,  she  stepped  from 
the  veranda,  and  proceeded  directly  to  the  cabin 
of  the  uniritellectual  Hawkins,  that  reared  its 
adobe  chimney  above  the  umbrage  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  below. 

The  door  opened  instantly  to  her  impulsive 
knock,  and  the  "  Fool  of  Five  Forks  "  stood  before 
her.  Miss  Milly  had  never  before  seen  the  man 
designated  by  this  infelicitous  title ;  and  as  he 
stepped  backward,  in  half  courtesy  and  Hlf 
astonishment,  she  was,  for  the  moment,  discon 
certed.  He  was  tall,  finely  formed,  and  dark- 
bearded.  Above  cheeks  a  little  hollowed  by 
care  and  ill-health  shone  a  pair  of  hazel  eyes, 
very  large,  very  gentle,  but  inexpressibly  sad 
and  mournful.  This  was  certainly  not  the  kind 
of  man  .Miss  Milly  had  expected  to  see ;  yet, 
after  her  first  embarrassment  had  passed,  the 
very  circumstance,  oddly  enough,  added  to  her 
indignation,  and  stung  her  wounded  pride  still 
more  deeply.  Nevertheless,  the  arch  hypocrite 
instantly  changed  her  tactics  with  the  swift 
intuition  of  her  sex. 

"  I  have  come,"  she  said  with  a  dazzling  smile, 
infinitely  more  dangerous  than  her  former  digni 
fied  severity,  —  "I  have  come  to  ask  your  pardon 
for  a  great  liberty  I  have  just  taken.  I  believe 
the  new  house  above  us  on  the  hill  is  yours.  I 
was  so  much  pleased  with  its  exterior,  that  I  left 


158  THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FOKKS. 

my  friends  for  a  moment  below  here,"  she  con 
tinued  artfully,  with  a  slight  wave  of  the  hand, 
as  if  indicating  a  band  of  fearless  Amazons  with 
out,  and  waiting  to  avenge  any  possible  insult 
offered  to  one  of  their  number,  "  and  ventured 
to  enter  it.  Finding  it  unoccupied,  as  I  had 
been  told,  I  am  afraid  I  had  the  audacity  to  sit 
down  and  amuse  myself  for  a  few  moments  at 
the  piano,  while  waiting  for  my  friends." 

Hawkins  raised  his  beautiful  eyes  to  hers.  He 
saw  a  very  pretty  girl,  with  frank  gray  eyes 
glistening  with  excitement,  with  two  red,  slight 
ly  f re  elded  cheeks  glowing  a  little  under  his 
eyes,  with  a  short  scarlet  upper-lip  turned  back, 
like  a  rose-leaf,  over  a  little  line  of  white  teeth, 
as  she  breathed  somewhat  hurriedly  in  her  ner 
vous  excitement.  He  saw  all  this  calmly,  quiet 
ly,  and,  save  for  the  natural  uneasiness  of  a  shy, 
reticent  man,  I  fear  without  a  quickening  of  his 
pulse. 

"  I  knowed  it,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  heerd  ye 
as  I  kem  up." 

Miss  Milly  was  furious  at  his  grammar,  his 
dialect,  his  coolness,  and,  still  more,  at  the  sus 
picion  that  he  was  an  active  member  of  her  in 
visible  claque. 

"Ah ! "  she  said,  still  smiling.  "  Then  I  think  I 
heard  you  "  — 

"  I  reckon  not,"  he  interrupted  gravely.     "  ] 


THE   FOOL   OF  FIVE   FOKKS.  159 

didn't  stay  long.  I  found  the  boys  hanging 
round  the  house,  and  I  allowed  at  first  I'd  go  in 
and  kinder  warn  you ;  but  they  promised  to  keep 
still :  and  you  looked  so  comfortable,  and  wrapped 
up  in  your  music,  that  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  dis 
turb  you,  and  kem  away.  I  hope,"  he  added 
earnestly,  "they  didn't  let  on  ez  they  heerd 
you.  They  ain't  a  bad  lot,  —  them  Blazin'  Star 
boys  —  though  they're  a  little  hard  at  times. 
But  they'd  no  more  hurt  ye  then  they  would  a 
—  a  —  a  cat!"  continued  Mr.  Hawkins,  blush 
ing  with  a  faint  apprehension  of  the  inelegance 
of  his  simile. 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Miss  Milly,  feeling  suddenly 
very  angry  with  herself,  the  "Fool,"  and  the 
entire  male  population  of  Five  Forks.  "  No  !  I 
have  behaved  foolishly,  I  suppose — and,  if  they 
had,  it  would  have  served  me  right.  But  I 
only  wanted  to  apologize  to  you.  You'll  |md 
every  thing  as  you  left  it.  Good-day !  " 

She  turned  to  go.  Mr.  Hawkins  began  to  feel 
embarrassed.  "  I'd  have  asked  ye  to  sit  down," 
he  said  finally,  "  if  it  hed  been  a  place  fit  for  a 
lady.  I  oughter  done  so,  enny  way.  I  don't 
know  what  kept  me  from  it.  But  I  ain't  well, 
miss.  Times  I  get  a  sort  o'  dumb  ager,  —  it's 
the  ditches,  I  think,  miss,  —  and  I  don't  seem  to 
hev  my  wits  about  me." 

Instantly  Miss  Arnot  was  all  sympathy :  hei 
quick  woman's  heart  was  touched. 


160  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS. 

"  Can  I  —  can-any  thing  be  done  ?  "  she  asked 
more  timidly  than  she  had  before  spoken. 

"  No  —  not  onless  ye  remember  suthin'  about 
these  pills."  He  exhibited  a  box  containing 
about  half  a  dozen.  "  I  forget  the  direction  — 
I  don't  seem  to  remember  much,  any  way,  these 
times.  They're  '  Jones's  Vegetable  Compound.' 
If  ye've  ever  took  'em,  ye'll  remember  whether 
the  reg'lar  dose  is  eight.  They  ain;t  but  six 
here.  But  perhaps  ye  never  tuk  any,"  he  added 
deprecatingly. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Milly  curtly.  She  had  usu 
ally  a  keen  sense  of  the  ludicrous  ;  but  somehow 
Mr.  Hawkins's  eccentricity  only  pained  her. 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  you  to  the  foot  of  the 
hill?"  he  said  again,  after  another  embarrassing 
pause. 

Miss  Arnot  felt  instantly  that  such  an  act 
would  condone  her  trespass  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world.  She  might  meet  some  of  her  invisible 
admirers,  or  even  her  companions ;  and,  with  all 
her  erratic  impulses,  she  was,  nevertheless,  a 
woman,  and  did  not  entirely  despise  the  verdict 
of  conventionality.  She  smiled  sweetly,  and 
assented ;  and  in  another  moment  the  two  were 
lost  in  the  shadows  of  the  wood. 

Like  many  other  apparently  trivial  acts  in 
an  uneventful  life,  it  was  decisive.  As  she 
expected,  she  met  two  or  three  of  her  late 


THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS.  161 

applauders,  whom,  she  fancied,  looked  sheepish 
and  embarrassed ;  she  met,  also,  her  companions 
looking  for  her  in  some  alarm,  who  really 
appeared  astonished  at  her  escort,  and,  she 
fancied,  a  trifle  envious  of  her  evident  success. 
I  fear  that  Miss  Arnot,  in  response  to  their 
anxious  inquiries,  did  not  state  entirely  the 
truth,  but,  without  actual  assertion,  led  them 
to  believe  that  she  had,  at  a  very  early  stage 
of  the  proceeding,  completely  subjugated  this 
weak-minded  giant,  and  had  brought  him  tri 
umphantly  to  her  feet.  From  telling  this  story 
two  or  three  times,  she  got  finally  to  believing 
that  she  had  some  foundation  for  it,  then  to  a 
vague  sort  of  desire  that  it  would  eventually 
prove  to  be  true,  and  then  to  an  equally  vague 
yearning  to  hasten  that  consummation.  That 
it  would  redound  to  any  satisfaction  of  the 
"  Fool "  she  did  not  stop  to  doubt.  That  it  would 
cure  him  of  his  folly  she  was  quite  confident. 
Indeed,  there  are  very  few  of  us,  men  or 
women,  who  do  not  believe  that  even  a  hope 
less  love  for  ourselves  is  more  conducive  to 
the  salvation  of  the  lover  than  a  requited  affec 
tion  for  another. 

The  criticism  of  Five  Forks  was,  as  the 
reader  may  imagine,  swift  and  conclusive. 
When  it  was  found  out  that  Miss  Arnot  was 
not  the  "  Hag  "  masquerading  as  a  young  and 


162  THE  FOOL   OF  FIVE   FORKS. 

pretty  girl,  to  the  ultimate  deception  of  Five 
Forks  in  general,  and  the  "  Fool "  in  particular, 
it  was  at  once  decided  that  nothing  but  the 
speedy  union  of  the  "  Fool "  and  the  "  pretty 
school-marm "  was  consistent  with  ordinary 
common  sense.  The  singular  good-fortune  of 
Hawkins  was  quite  in  accordance  with  the 
theory  of  his  luck  as  propounded  by  the  camp. 
That,  after  the  "Hag"  failed  to  make  her 
appearance,  he  should  "  strike  a  lead "  in  his 
own  house,  without  the  trouble  of  "  prospect- 
in',"  seemed  to  these  casuists  as  a  wonderful 
but  inevitable  law.  To  add  to  these  fateful 
probabilities,  Miss  Arnot  fell,  and  sprained  her 
ankle,  in  the  ascent  of  Mount  Lincoln,  and  Avas 
confined  for  some  weeks  to  the  hotel  after  her 
companions  had  departed.  During  this  period, 
Hawkins  was  civilly  but  grotesquely  attentive. 
When,  after  a  reasonable  time  had  elapsed, 
there  still  appeared  to  be  no  immediate  pros 
pect  of  the  occupancy  of  the  new  house,  public 
opinion  experienced  a  singular  change  in  regard 
to  its  theories  of  Mr.  Hawkins's  conduct.  The 
"  Hag  "  was  looked  upon  as  a  saint-like  and  long- 
suffering  martyr  to  the  weaknesses  and.,  incon 
sistency  of  the  "  Fool."  That,  after  erecting 
this  new  house  at  her  request,  he  had  suddenly 
"  gone  back  "  on  her ;  that  his  celibacy  was  the 
result  of  a  long  habit  of  weak  proposal  and 


THE   FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS.  103 

subsequent  shameless  rejection ;  and  that  he 
was  now  trying  his  hand  on  the  helpless  school- 
marm,  was  perfectly  plain  to  Five  Forks.  That 
he  should  be  frustrated  in  his  attempts  at  any 
cost  was  equally  plain.  Miss  Milly  suddenly 
found  herself  invested  with  a  rude  chivalry 
that  would  have  been  amusing,  had  it  not  been 
at  times  embarrassing;  that  would  have  been 
impertinent,  but  for  the  almost  superstitious 
respect  with  which  it  was  proffered.  Every 
day  somebody  from  Five  Forks  rode  out  to 
inquire  the  health  of  the  fair  patient.  "  Hez 
Hawkins  bin  over  yer  to-day  ?  "  queried  Tom 
Flynn,  with  artful  ease  and  indifference,  as  he 
leaned  over  Miss  Milly's  easy-chair  on  the 
veranda.  Miss  Milly,  with  a  faint  pink  flush 
on  her  cheek,  was  constrained  to  answer,  "  No." 
"  Well,  he  sorter  sprained  his  foot  agin  a  rock 
yesterday,"  continued  Flynn  with  shameless 
untruthfulness.  "  You  mus'n't  think  any  thing 
o'  that,  Miss  Arnot.  He'll  be  over  yer  to-mor- 
rer ;  and  meantime  he  told  me  to  hand  this  yer 
bookay  with  his  re-gards,  and  this  yer  speci 
men."  And  Mr.  Flynn  laid  down  the  flowers 
he  had  picked  en  route  against  such  an  emer 
gency,  and  presented  respectfully  a  piece  of 
quartz  and  gold,  which  he  had  taken  that  morn 
ing  from  his  own  sluice-box.  "  You  mus'n't 
mind  Hawkins's  ways,  Miss  Milly,"  said  another 


164  THE  FOOL   OF   FIVE  FORKS. 

sympathizing  miner.  "  There  ain't  a  better 
man  in  camp  than  that  theer  Cy  Hawkins  — 
but  he  don't  understand  the  ways  o'  the  world 
with  wimen.  He  hasn't  mixed  as  much  with 
society  as  the  rest  of  us,"  he  added,  with  an 
elaborate  Chesterfieldian  ease  of  manner ;  "  but 
he  means  well."  Meanwhile  a  few  other  sympa 
thetic  tunnel-men  were  impressing  upon  Mr. 
Hawkins  the  necessity  of  the  greatest  attention 
to  the  invalid.  "  It  won't  do,  Hawkins,"  they 
explained,  "to  let  that  there  gal  go  back  to 
San  Francisco  and  say,  that,  when  she  was  sick 
and  alone,  the  only  man  in  Five  Forks  under 
whose  roof  she  had  rested,  and  at  whose  table 
she  had  sat "  (this  was  considered  a  natural 
but  pardonable  exaggeration  of  rhetoric)  "  ever 
threw  off  on  her  ;  and  it  sha'n't  be  done.  It 
ain't  the  square  thing  to  Five  Forks."  And 
then  the  "  Fool "  would  rush  away  to  the  valley, 
and  be  received  by  Miss  Milly  with  a  certain 
reserve  of  manner  that  finally  disappeared  in  a 
flush  of  color,  s_/me  increased  vivacity,  and  a 
pardonable  coquetry.  And  so  the  days  passed. 
Miss  Milly  grew  better  in  health,  and  more 
troubled  in  mind ;  and  Mr.  Hawkins  became 
more  and  more  embarrassed ;  and  Five  Forks 
smiled,  and  rubbed  its  hands,  and  waited  for 
the  approaching  denotiment.  And  then  it  came 
—  but  not,  perhaps,  in  the  manner  that  Five 
Forks  had  imagined. 


THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FOEKS.  166 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  in  July  that  a 
party  of  Eastern  tourists  rode  into  Five  Forks. 
They  had  just  "done"  the  Valley  of  Big 
Things;  and,  there  being  one  or  two  Easterj 
capitalists  among  the  party,  it  was  deemed 
advisable  that  a  proper  knowledge  of  the  prac 
tical  mining-resources  of  California  should  be 
added  to  their  experience  of  the  merely  pictur 
esque  in  Nature.  Thus  far  every  tiling  had  been 
satisfactory ;  the  amount  of  water  which  passed 
over  the  Fall  was  large,  owing  to  a  backward 
season ;  some  snow  still  remained  in  the  canons 
near  the  highest  peaks ;  they  had  ridden  round 
one  of  the  biggest  trees,  and  through  the  pros 
trate  trunk  of  another.  To  say  that  they  were 
delighted  is  to  express  feebly  the  enthusiasm 
of  these  ladies  and  gentlemen,  drunk  with  the 
champagny  hospitality  of  their  entertainers,  the 
utter  novelty  of  scene,  and  the  dry,  exhilarating 
air  of-  the  valley.  One  or  two  had  already 
expressed  themselves  ready  to  live  and  die 
there ;  another  had  written  a  glowing  account 
to  the  Eastern  press,  depreciating  all  other 
scenery  in  Europe  and  America;  and,  under 
these  circumstances,  it  was  reasonably  expected 
that  Five  Forks  would  do  its  duty,  and  equally 
impress  the  stranger  after  its  own  fashion. 

Letters  to  this  effect  were  sent  from  San 
Francisco  by  prominent  capitalists  there  ;  and, 


166  THE  FOOL  OF   FIVE  FORKS. 

under  the  able  superintendence  of  one  of  their 
agents,  the  visitors  were  taken  in  hand,  shown 
"what  was  to  be  seen,"  carefully  restrained 
from  observing  what  ought  not  to  be  visible, 
and  so  kept  in  a  blissful  and  enthusiastic  condi 
tion.  And  so  the  graveyard  of  Five  Forks,  in 
which  but  two  of  the  occupants  had  died  natu 
ral  deaths ;  the  dreary,  ragged  cabins  on  the 
hillsides,  with  their  sad-eyed,  cynical,  broken- 
spirited  occupants,  toiling  on  day  by  day  for 
a  miserable  pittance,  and  a  fare  that  a  self- 
respecting  Eastern  mechanic  would  have  scorn 
fully  rejected,  —  were  not  a  part  of  the  Eastern 
visitors'  recollection.  But  the  hoisting  works 
and  machinery  of  the  "  Blazing  Star  Tunnel 
Company  "  was,  —  the  Blazing  Star  Tunnel  Com 
pany,  whose  "gentlemanly  superintendent"  had 
received  private  information  from  San  Fran 
cisco  to  do  the  "proper  thing"  for  the  party. 
Wherefore  the  valuable  heaps  of  ore  in  the 
company's  works  were  shown ;  the  oblong  bars 
of  gold,  ready  for  shipment,  were  playfully 
offered  to  the  ladies  who  could  lift  and  carry 
them  away  unaided ;  and  even  the  tunnel  itself, 
gloomy,  fateful,  and  peculiar,  was  shown  as 
part  of  the  experience ;  and,  in  the  noble  lan 
guage  of  one  correspondent,  "  The  wealth  of 
Five  Forks,  and  the  peculiar  inducements  that 
it  offered  to  Eastern  capitalists,"  were  estab- 


THE  FOOL  OF   FIVE  FORKS.  167 

lished  beyond  a  doubt.  And  then  occurred  a 
little  incident,  which,  as  an  unbiassed  spectator, 
I  am  free  to  say  offered  no  inducements  to 
anybody  whatever,  but  which,  for  its  tearing 
upon  the  central  figure  of  this  veracious  chroni 
cle,  I  cannot  pass  over. 

It  had  become  apparent  to  one  or  two  more 
practical  and  sober-minded  in  the  party,  thf.t 
certain  portions  of  the  "  Blazing  Star  "  tunnel 
(owing,  perhaps,  to  the  exigencies  of  a  flat 
tering  annual  dividend)  were  economically  and 
imperfectly  "  shored  "  and  supported,  and  were, 
consequently,  unsafe,  insecure,  and  to  be  avoided. 
Nevertheless,  at  a  time  when  champagne  corks 
were  popping  in  dark  corners,  and  enthusiastic 
voices  and  happy  laughter  rang  through  the 
half-lighted  levels  and  galleries,  there  came  a 
sudden  and  mysterious  silence.  A  few  lights 
dashed  swiftly  by  in  the  direction  of  a  distant 
part  of  the  gallery,  and  then  there  was  a  sud 
den  sharp  issuing  of  orders,  and  a  dull,  ominous 
rumble.  Some  of  the  visitors  turned  pale :  one 
woman  fainted. 

Something  had  happened.  What  ?  "  Noth 
ing  "  (the  speaker  is  fluent,  but  uneasy)  —  "  one 
of  the  gentlemen,  in  trying  to  dislodge  a  '  speci 
men  '  from  the  wall,  had  knocked  away  a  sup 
port.  There  had  been  a '  cave  '  —  the  gentleman 
was  caught,  and  buried  below  his  shoulders.  It 


168  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE  FORKS. 

was  all  right,  they'd  get  him  out  in  a  moment 
—  only  it  required  great  care  to  keep  from  ex 
tending  the  '  cave.'  Didn't  know  his  name. 
It  was  that  little  man,  the  husband  of  that 
lively  lady  with  the  black  eyes.  Eh  !  Hullo, 
there  !  Stop  her !  For  God's  sake  !  Not  that 
way!  She'll  fall  from  that  shaft.  She'll  be 
killed  !  " 

But  the  lively  lady  was  already  gone.  With 
staring  black  eyes,  imploringly  trying  to  pierce 
the  gloom,  with  hands  and  feet  that  sought  to 
batter  and  break  down  the  thick  darkness,  with 
incoherent  cries  and  supplications  following  the 
moving  of  ignis  fatuus  lights  ahead,  she  ran,  and 
ran  swiftly  !  —  ran  over  treacherous  foundations, 
ran  by  yawning  gulfs,  ran  past  branching  gal 
leries  and  arches,  ran  wildly,  ran  despairingly, 
ran  blindly,  and  at  last  ran  into  the  arms  of 
the  "  Fool  of  Five  Forks." 

In  an  instant  she  caught  at  his  hand.  "  Oh, 
save  him  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  belong  here  ;  }*ou 
know  this  dreadful  place  :  bring  me  to  him. 
Tell  me  where  to  go,  and  what  to  do,  I  implore 
you  !  Quick,  he  is  dying  !  Come  !  " 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers,  and  then,  with  a 
sudden  cry,  dropped  the  rope  \  and  crowbar  he 
was  carrying,  and  reeled  against  the  wall. 

"  Annie  !  "  he  gasped  slowty.    "  Is  it  you  ?  " 

She  caught  at  both  his  hands,  brought  her 


THE   FOOL   OF  FIVE  FOEKS.  169 

face  to  his  with  staring  eyes,  murmured,  "  Good 
God,  Cyrus  !  "  and  sank  upon  her  knees  before 
him. 

lie  tried  to  disengage  the  hand  that  she 
wrung  with  passionate  entreaty. 

"  No,  no !  Cyrus,  you  will  forgive  me  —  you 
will  forget  the  past !  God  has  sent  you  here 
to-day.  You  will  come  with  me.  You  will  — 
you  must  —  save  him !  " 

"  Save  who  ?  "  cried  Cyrus  hoarsely. 

"  My  husband ! " 

The  blow  was  so  direct,  so  strong  and  over 
whelming,  that,  even  through  her  own  stronger 
and  more  selfish  absorption,  she  saw  it  in  the 
face  of  the  man,  and  pitied  him. 

"  I  thought  —  you  —  knew  —  it, "  she  fal 
tered. 

He  did  not  speak,  but  looked  at  her  with 
fixed,  dumb  eyes.  -  And  then  the  sound  of  dis 
tant  voices  and  hurrying  feet  started  her  again 
into  passionate  life.  She  once  more  caught  his 
hand. 

"  O  Cyrus,  hear  me  !  If  you  have  loved  me 
through  all  these  years,  you  will  not  fail  me 
now.  You  must  save  him !  You  can !  You 
are  brave  and  strong  —  you  always  were,  Cyrus. 
You  will  save  him,  Cyrus,  for  my  sake,  for  the 
sake  of  your  love  for  me  !  You  will  —  I  know 
it.  God  bless  you  !  " 


170       THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS. 

She  rose  as  if  to  follow  him ;  but,  at  a  ges 
ture  of  command,  she  stood  still.  He  picked 
up  the  rope  and  crowbar  slowly,  and  in  a  dazed, 
blinded  way,  that,  in  her  agony  of  impatience 
and  alarm,  seemed  protracted  to  cruel  infinity. 
Thon  he  turned,  and,  raising  her  hand  to  his 
lips,  kissed  it  slowly,  looked  at  her  again,  and 
the  next  moment  was  gone. 

He  did  not  return;  for  at  the  end  of  the 
next  half-hour,  when  they  laid  before  her  the 
half-conscious,  breathing  body  of  her  husband, 
safe  and  unharmed,  but  for  exhaustion  and  some 
slight  bruises,  she  learned  that  the  worst  fears 
of  the  workmen  had  been  realized.  In  releasing 
him,  a  second  cave  had  taken  place.  They  had 
barely  time  to  snatch  away  the  helpless  body 
of  her  husband,  before  the  strong  frame  of  his 
rescuer,  Cyrus  Hawkins,  was  struck  and  smitten 
down  in  his  place. 

For  two  hours  he  lay  there,  crushed  and 
broken-limbed,  with  a  heavy  beam  lying  across 
his  breast,  in  sight  of  all,  conscious  and  patient. 
For  two  hours  they  had  labored  around  him, 
wildly,  despairingly,  hopefully,  with  the  wills  of 
gods  and  the  strength  of  giants ;  and  at  the  end 
of  that  time  ihey  came  to  an  upright  timber, 
which  rested  its  base  upon  the  beam.  There 
was  a  cry  for  axes,  and  one  was  already  swing 
ing  in  the  air,  when  the  dying  man  called  to 
them  feebly,  — 


THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS.  171 

"  Don't  cut  that  upright ! " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  It  will  bring  down  the  whole  gallery  with 
it." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  It's  one  of  the  foundations  of  my  house." 

The  axe  fell  from  the  workman's  hand,  and 
with  a -blanched  face  he  turned  to  his  fellows. 
It  was  too  true.  They  were  in  the  uppermost 
gallery ;  and  the  "  cave  "  had  taken  place  di 
rectly  below  the  new  house.  After  a  pause, 
the  "  Fool  "  spoke  again  more  feebly. 

"  The  lady  —  quick  !  " 

They  brought  her,  —  a  wretched,  fainting 
creature,  with  pallid  face  and  streaming  eyes,  — 
and  fell  back  as  she  bent  her  face  above  him. 

"  It  was  built  for  you,  Annie  darling,"  he 
said  in  a  hurried  whisper,  "  and  has  been  wait 
ing  up  there  for  you  and  me  all  these  long  days. 
It's  deeded  to  you,  Annie  ;  and  you  must  —  live 
there  —  with  him!  He  will  not  mind  that  I 
shall  be  always  near  you ;  for  it  stands  above 
—  my  grave." 

And  he  was  right.  In  a  few  minutes  later, 
when  he  had  passed  away,  they  did  not  move 
him,  but  sat  by  his  body  all  night  with  a  torch 
at  his  feet  and  head.  And  the  next  day  they 
walled  up  the  gallery  as  a  vault ;  but  they  put 
no  mark  or  any  sign  thereon,  trusting,  rather,  to 


172  THE  FOOL   OF   FIVE  FORKS. 

the  monument,  that,  bright  and  cheerful,  rose 
above  him  in  the  sunlight  of  the  hill.  And 
those  who  heard  the  story  said,  "  This  is  not  an 
evidence  of  death  and  gloom  and  sorrow,  as  are 
other  monuments,  but  is  a  sign  of  life  and 
light  and  hope,  wherefore  shall  all  know  that 
he  who  lies  under  it  is  what  men  call  —  "a  fool." 


BABY  SYLVESTER. 

IT  was  at  a  little  mining-camp  in  the  Cali 
fornia  Sierras  that  he  first  dawned  upon  me 
in  all  his  grotesque  sweetness. 

I  had  arrived  early  in  the  morning,  but  not  in 
time  to  intercept  the  friend  who  was  the  object 
of  my  visit.  He  had  gone  "  prospecting,"  — so 
they  told  me  on  the  river, — and  would  not  prob 
ably  return  until  late  in  the  afternoon.  They 
could  not  say  what  direction  he  had  taken ; 
they  could  not  suggest  that  I  would  be  likely  to 
find  him  if  I  followed.  But  it  was  the  general 
opinion  that  I  had  better  wait. 

I  looked  around  me.  I  was  standing  upon 
the  bank  of  the  river ;  and  apparently  the  only 
other  human  beings  in  the  world  were  my  inter 
locutors,  who  were  even  then  just  disappearing 
from  my  horizon,  down  the  steep  bank,  toward 
the  river's  dry  bed.  I  approached  the  edge  of 
the  bank. 

Where  could  I  wait  ? 

Oh !  anywhere, — down  with  them  on  the  river- 
bar,  where  they  were  working,  if  I  liked.  Or  I 

173 


174  BABY  SYLVESTER. 

could  make  myself  at  home  in  any  of  those 
cabins  that  I  found  lying  round  loose.  Or  per 
haps  it  would  be  cooler  and  pleasanter  for  me 
in  my  friend's  cabin  on  the  hill.  Did  I  see 
those  three  large  sugar-pines,  and,  a  little  to 
tho  right,  a  canvas  roof  and  chimney,  over  the 
bushes  ?  Well,  that  was  my  friend's,  —  that 
was  Dick  Sylvester's  cabin.  I  pould  stake  my 
horse  in  that  little  hollow,  and  just  hang  round 
there  till  he  came.  I  would*find  some  books  in 
the  shanty.  I  could  amuse  myself  with  them ; 
or  I  could  play  with  the  baby. 

Do  what  ? 

But  they  had  already  gone.  I  leaned  over 
the  bank,  and  called  after  their  vanishing 
figures,  — 

"  What  did  you  say  I  could  do  ?  " 

The  answer  floated  slowly  up  on  the  hot, 
sluggish  air,  — 

"  Pla-a-y  with  the  ba-by." 

The  lazy  echoes  took  it  up,  and  tossed  it  lan 
guidly  from  hill  to  hill,  until  Bald  Mountain 
opposite  made  some  incoherent  remark  about 
the  baby ;  and  then  all  was  still. 

I  must  have  been  mistaken.  My  friend  was 
not  a  man  of  family ;  there  was  not  a  woman 
within  forty  miles  of  the  river  camp  ;  he  never 
was  so  passionately  devoted  to  children  as  to 
import  a  luxury  so  expensive.  I  must  have 
been  mistaken. 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  175 

I  turned  my  horse's  head  toward  the  hill. 
As  we  slowly  climbed  the  narrow  trail,  the  little 
settlement  might  have  been  sonic  exhumed 
Pompeiian  suburb,  so  deserted  and  silent  were 
its  habitations.  The  open  doors  plainly  dis 
closed  each  rudely-furnished  interior,  —  the 
rough  pine  table,  with  the  scant  equipage  of 
the  morning  meal  still  standing ;  the  wooden 
bunk,  with  its  tumbled  and  dishevelled  blankets. 
A  golden  lizard,*  the  very  genius  of  desolate 
stillness,  had  stopped  breathless  upon  the 
threshold  of  one  cabin;  a  squirrel  peeped  im 
pudently  into  the  window  of  another ;  a  wood 
pecker,  with  the  general  flavor  of  undertaking 
which  distinguishes  that  bird,  withheld  his 
sepulchral  hammer  from  the  coffin-lid  of  the 
roof  on  which  he  was  professionally  engaged, 
as  we  passed.  For  a  moment  I  half  regretted 
that  I  had  not  accepted  the  invitation  to  the 
river-bed ;  but,  the  next  moment,  a  breeze 
swept  up  the  long,  dark  canon,  and  the  waiting 
files  of  the  pines  beyond  bent  toward  me  in  sal 
utation.  I  think  my  horse  understood,  as  well 
as  myself,  that  it  was  the  cabins  that  made  the 
solitude  human,  and  therefore  unbearable  ;  for 
he  quickened  his  pace,  and  with  a  gentle  trot 
brought  me  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  the 
three  pines  that  stood  like  vedettes  before  the 
Sylvester  outpost. 


176  BABY   SYLVESTER. 

Unsaddling  my  horse  in  the  little  hollow,  I 
unslung  the  long  riata  from  the  saddle-bow, 
and,  tethering  him  to  a  young  sapling,  turned 
toward  the  cabin.  But  I  had  gone  only  a  few 
steps,  when  I  heard  a  quick  trot  behind  me ;  and 
poor  Pomposo,  with  every  fibre  tingling  with 
fear,  was  at  my  heels.  I  looked  hurriedly 
around.  The  breeze  had  died  away ;  and  onlj 
an  occasional  breath  from  the  deep-chested 
woods,  more  like  a  long  sigh  than  any  articulate 
sound,  or  the  dry  singing  of  a  cicala  in  the 
heated  canon,  were  to  be  heard.  I  examined 
the  ground  carefully  for  rattlesnakes,  but  in 
vain.  Yet  here  was  Pomposo  shivering  from 
his  arched  neck  to  his  sensitive  haunches,  his 
very  flanks  pulsating  with  terror.  I  soothed 
him  as  well  as  I  could,  and  then  walked  to  the 
edge  of  the  wood,  and  peered  into  its  dark 
recesses.  The  bright  flash  sof  a  bird's  wing,  or 
the  quick  dart  of  a  squirrel,  was  all  I  saw.  I 
confess  it  was  with  something  of  superstitious 
expectation  that  I  again  turned  towards  the 
cabin.  A  fairy-child,  attended  by  Titania  and 
her  train,  lying  in  an  expensive  cradle,  would 
not  have  surprised  rne :  a  Sleeping  Beauty, 
whose  awakening  would  have  repeopled  these 
solitudes  with  life  and  energy,  I  am  afraid  I 
began  to  confidently  look  for,  and  would  have 
kissed  without  hesitation. 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  177 

But  I  found  none  of  these.  Here  was  the 
evidence  of  my  friend's  taste  and  refinement,  in 
the  hearth  swept  scrupulously  clean,  in  the  pic 
turesque  arrangement  of  the  fur-skins  that  cov-  ,  -, 
ered  the  floor  and  furniture, '  and  the  striped^X, 
serdpe1  lying  on  the  wooden  couch.  Here  were 
the  walls  fancifully  papered  with  illustrations 
from  "  The  London  News ; "  here  was  the  Avood- 
cut  portrait  of  Mr.  Emerson  over  the  chimney, 
quaintly  framed  with  blue-jays'  wings ;  here  were 
his  few  favorite  books  on  the  swinging-shelf; 
and  here,  lying  upon  the  couch,  the  latest  copy 
of  "  Punch."  Dear  Dick !  The  flour-sack  was 
sometimes  empty ;  but  the  gentle  satirist  seldom 
missed  his  weekly  visit. 

I  threw  myself  on  the  couch,  and  tried  to 
read.  But  I  soon  exhausted  my  interest  in  my 
friend's  library,  and  lay  there  staring  through 
the  open  door  on  the  green  hillside  beyond.  The 
breeze  again  sprang  up ;  and  a  delicious  coolness, 
mixed  with  the  rare  incense  of  the  woods,  stole 
through  the  cabin.  The  slumbrous  droning  of 
bumblebees  outside  the  canvas  roof,  the  faint 
cawing  of  rooks  on  the  opposite  mountain,  and 
the  fatigue  of  my  morning  ride,  began  to  droop 
my  eyelids.  I  pulled  the  serdpe  over  me,  as  a 


1 A  fine  Mexican  "blanket,  used  as  an  outer  garment  foi 
riding. 


178  BABY    SYLVESTER. 

precaution  against  the  freshening  mountain 
breeze,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  asleep. 

I  do  not  remember  how  long  I  slept.  I  must 
have  been  conscious,  however,  during  my  slum 
ber,  of  my  inability  to  keep  myself  covered  by 
the  serdpe  ;  for  I  awoke  once  or  twice,  clutching 
it  with  a  despairing  hand  as  it  was  disappearing 
over  the  foot  of  the  couch.  Then  I  became 
suddenly  aroused  to  the  fact  that  my  efforts  to 
retain  it  were  resisted  by  some  equally  persistent 
force ;  and,  letting  it  go,  I  was  horrified  at  see 
ing  it  swiftly  drawn  under  the  couch.  At  this 
point  I  sat  up,  completely  awake ;  for  immedi 
ately  after,  what  seemed  to  be  an  exaggerated 
muff  began  to  emerge  from  under  the  couch. 
Presently  it  appeared  fully,  dragging  the  serdpe 
after  it.  There  was  no  mistaking  it  now:  it 
was  a  baby-bear,  —  a  mere  suckling,  it  was  true, 
a  helpless  roll  of  fat  and  fur,  but  unmistakably 
a  grizzly  cub ! 

I  cannot  recall  any  thing  more  irresistibly 
ludicrous  than  its  aspect  as  it  slowly  raised  its 
small,  wondering  eyes  to  mine.  It  was  so  much 
taller  on  its  haunches  than  its  shoulders,  its 
foi  elegs  were  so  disproportionately  small,  that, 
in  walking,  its  hind-feet  invariably  took  prece 
dence.  It  was  perpetually  pitching  forward  over 
its  pointed,  inoffensive  nose,  and  recovering  it 
self  always,  after  these  involuntary  somersaults, 


BABY  SYLVESTEE.  179 

with  the  gravest  astonishment.  To  add  to  its 
preposterous  appearance,  one  of  its  hind-feet 
was  adorned  by  a  shoe  of  Sylvester's,  into  which 
it  had  accidentally  and  inextricably  stepped. 
As  this  somewhat  impeded  its  first  impulse  to 
fly,  it  turned  to  me  ;  and  then,  possibly  recog 
nizing  in  the  stranger  the  same  species  as  its 
master,  it  paused.  Presently  it  slowly  raised 
itself  on  its  hind-legs,  and  vaguely  and  depre- 
catingly  waved  a  baby-paw,  fringed  with  little 
hooks  of  steel.  I  took  the  paw,  and  shook  it 
gravely.  From  that  moment  we  were  friends. 
The  little  affair  of  the  senipe  was  forgotten. 

Nevertheless^  I  was  wise  enough  to  cement 
our  friendship  by  an  act  of  delicate  courtesy. 
Following  the  direction  of  his  eves,  I  had  no 

O  */  7 

difficulty  in  finding  on  a  shelf  near  the  ridge 
pole  the  sugar-box  and  the  square  lumps  of 
white  sugar  that  even  the  poorest  miner  is 
never  without.  While  he  was  eating  them,  I  had 
time  to  examine  him  more  closely.  His  body 
was  a  silky,  dark,  but  exquisitely-modulated 
gray,  deepening  to  black  in  his  paws  and  muzzle. 
His  fur  was  excessively  long,  thick,  and  soft  as 
eider-down ;  the  cushions  of  flesh  beneath  per 
fectly  infantine  in  their  texture  and  contour.  M  J 
He  was  so  very  young,  that  the  palms  of  his  * 
half-human  feet  were  still  tender  as  a  baby's. 
Except  for  the  bright  blue,  steely  hooks,  half 


180  BABY   SYLVESTER. 

sheathed  in  his  little  toes,  there  was  not  a  single 
harsh  outline  or  detail  in  his  plump  figure.  He 
was  as  free  from  angles  as  one  of  Leda's  off 
spring.  Your  caressing  hand  sank  away  in  his 
fur  with  dreamy  languor.  To  look  at  him  long 
was  an  intoxication  of  the  senses ;  to  pat  him 
was  a  wild  delirium ;  to  embrace  him,  an  utter 
demoralization  of  the  intellectual  faculties. 

When  he  had  finished  the  sugar,  he  rolled 
out  of  the  door  with  a  half-diffident,  half- 
inviting  look  in  his  eyes  as  if  he  expected  me 
to  follow.  I  did  so  ;  but  the  sniffing  and  snort 
ing  of  the  keen-scented  Pomposo  in  the  hollow 
not  only  revealed  the  cause  of  his  former  terror, 
but  decided  me  to  take  another  direction. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  concluded  to  go 
with  me,  although  I  am  satisfied,  from  a  certain 
impish  look  in  his  eye,  that  he  fully  understood 
and  rather  enjoyed  the  fright  of  Pomposo.  As 
he  rolled  along  at  my  side,  with  a  gait  not  un 
like  a  drunken  sailor,  I  discovered  that  his  long 
hair  concealed  a  leather  collar  around  his  neck, 
which  bore  for  its  legend  the  single  word 
"  Baby  !  "  I  recalled  the  mysterious  suggestion 
of  the  two  miners.  This,  then,  was  the  "  baby  " 
with  whom  I  was  to  "  play." 

How  we  "  played ; "  how  Baby  allowed  me 
to  roll  him  down  hill,  crawling  and  puffing  up 
again  each  time  with  perfect  good-humor ;  how 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  181 

he  climbed  a  young  sapling  after  my  Panama 
hat,  which  I  had  "  shied  "  into  one  of  the  top 
most  branches ;  how,  after  getting  it,  he  refused 
to  descend  until  it  suited  his  pleasure ;  how, 
when  he  did  come  down,  he  persisted  in 
walking  about  on  three  legs,  carrying  my  hat,  a 
crushed  and  shapeless  mass,  clasped  to  his  breast 
with  the  remaining  one ;  how  I  missed  him  at 
last, 'and  finally  discovered  him  seated  on  a 
table  in  one  of  the  tenantless  cabins,  with  a 
bottle  of  sirup  between  his  paws,  vainly 
endeavoring  to  extract  its  contents,  —  these  and 
other  details  of  that  eventful  day  I  shall  not 
weary  the  reader  with  now.  Enough  that,  when 
Dick  Sylvester  returned,  I  was  pretty  well 
fagged  out,  and  the  baby  was  rolled  up,  an  im 
mense  bolster,  at  the  foot  of  the  couch,  asleep. 
Sylvester's  first  words  after  our  greeting 
were,  — 

"  Isn't  he  delicious  ?  " 

" Perfectly.     Where  did  you  get  him?" 

"  Lying   under  his   dead   mother,  five  miles 

from     here,"    said     Dick,    lighting    his    pipe. 

u  Knocked  her  over  at  fifty  yards :  perfectly 

clean  phot;  never  moved    afterwards.      Baby 

crawled  out,   scared,  but  unhurt.      She   must 

have   been   carrying    him   in   her  mouth,   and 

dropped  him  when  she  faced  me ;  for  he  wasn't 

more  than  three  days  old,  and  not  steady  on  his 


182  BABY   SYLVESTER. 

pins.  He  takes  the  only  milk  that  comes  to  the 
settlement,  brought  up  by  Adams  Express  at 
seven  o'clock  every  morning.  They  say  he 
looks  like  me.  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Dick 
with  perfect  gravity,  stroking  his  hay-colored 
mustachios,  and  evidently  assuming  his  beat 
expression. 

I  took  leave  of  the  baby  early  the  next  morn 
ing  in  Sylvester's  cabin,  and,  out  of  respect  to 
Pomposo's  feelings,  rode  by  without  any  post 
script  of  expression.  But  the  night  before  I 
had  made  Sylvester  solemnly  swear,  that,  in  the 
event  of  any  separation  between  himself  and 
Baby,  it  should  revert  to  me.  "  At  the  same 
time,"  he  had  added,  "  it's  only  fair  to  say  that 
I  don't  think  of  dying  just  yet,  old  fellow ;  and 
I  don't  know  of  any  thing  else  that  would  part 
the  cub  and  me." 

Two  months  after  this  conversation,  as  I  was 
turning  over  the  morning's  mail  at  my  office  in 
San  Francisco,  I  noticed  a  letter  bearing  Syl 
vester's  familiar  hand.  But  it  was  post-marked 
"  Stockton,"  and  I  opened  it  with  some  anxiety 
at  once.  Its  contents  were  as  follows :  — 

"O  FRANK!  —  Don't  you  remember  what  we  agreed 
upon  anent  the  baby?  Well,  consider  me  as  dead  for  the 
next  six  months,  or  gone  where  cubs  can't  follow  me, — 
East.  I  know  you  love  the  baby  ;  but  do  you  think,  dear 
boy,  —  now,  really,  do  you  think  you  could  be  a  father 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  183 

to  it?  Consider  this  well.  You  are  young,  thoughtless, 
well-meaning  enough;  but  dare  you  take  upon  yourself 
the  functions  of  guide,  genius,  or  guardian  to  one  so 
young  and  guileless?/  Could  you  be  the  Mentor  to  this 
Telemachus?  Think  of  the  temptations  of  a  metropolis. 
Look  at  the  question  well,  and  let  me  know  speedily  ;  for 
I've  got  him  as  far  as  this  place,  and  he's  kicking  up  an 
awful  row  in  the  hotel-yard,  and  rattling  his  chain  like  a 
maniac.  Let  me  know  by  telegraph  at  once. 

"  SYLVESTER. 

"  P.S.  — Of  course  he's  grown  a  little,  and  doesn't  take 
things  always  as  quietly  as  he  did.  He  dropped  rather 
heavily  on  two  of  Watson's  '  purps '  last  week,  and 
snatched  old  AVatson  himself  bald  headed,  for  interfer 
ing.  You  remember  Watson  ?  For  an  intelligent  man,  he 
knows  very  little  of  California  fauna.  How  are  you 
fixed  for  bears  on  Montgomery  Street,  I  mean  in  regard 
to  corrals  and  things?  S. 

"  P.P.S.  —  He's  got  some  new  tricks.  The  boys  have 
been  teaching  him  to  put  up  his  hands  with  them.  He 
slings  an  ugly  left.  S." 

I  am  afraid  that  my  desire  to  possess  myself 
of  Baby  overcame  all  other  considerations ;  and  I 
telegraphed  an  affirmative  at  once  to  Sylvester. 
When  I  reached  my  lodgings  late  that  after 
noon,  my  landlady  was  awaiting  me  with  a 
telegram.  It  was  two  lines  from  Sylvester,  — 

"  All  right.  Baby  goes  down  on  night-boat.  Be  a 
father  to  him.  S." 

It  was  due,  then,  at  one  o'clock  that  night. 


J84  BABY   SYLVESTER. 

For  a  moment  I  was  staggered  at  my  own  pre 
cipitation.  I  had  as  yet  made  no  preparations, 
had  said  nothing  to  my  landlady  about  her  new 
guest.  I  expected  to  arrange  every  thing  in 
time ;  and  now,  through  Sylvester's  indecent 
haste,  that  time  had  been  shortened  twelve 
hours. 

Something,  however,  must  be  done  at  once. 
I  turned  to  Mrs.  Brown.  I  had  great  reliance 
in  her  maternal  instincts :  I  had  that  still 
greater  reliance  common  to  our  sex  in  the 
general  tender-heartedness  of  pretty  women. 
But  I  confess  I  was  alarmed.  Yet,  with  a 
feeble  smile,  I  tried  to  introduce  the  subject 
with  classical  ease  and  lightness.  I  even  said, 
"  If  Shakspeare's  Athenian  clown,  Mrs.  Brown, 
believed  that  a  lion  among  ladies  was  a  dread 
ful  thing,  what  must "  —  But  here  I  broke 
down ;  for  Mrs.  Brown,  with  the  awful  intuition 
of  her  sex,  I  saw  at  once  was  more  occupied- 
with  my  manner  than  my  speech.  So  I  tried  a 
business  brusquerie,  and,  placing  the  telegram 
in  her  hand,  said  hurriedly,  "  We  must  do  some 
thing  about  this  at  once.  It's  perfectly  absurd ; 
but  he  will  be  here  at  one  to-night.  Beg 
thousand  pardons ;  but  business  prevented  my 
speaking  before"  —  and  paused  out  of  breath 
and  courage. 

Mrs.  Brown  read  the  telegram  gravely,  lifted 


BABY    SYLVESTEE.  185 

her  pretty  eyebrows,  turned  the  paper  over,  and 
looked  on  the  other  side,  and  then,  in  a  remote 
and  chilling  voice,  asked  me  if  she  understood 
me  to  say  that  the  mother  was  coming  also. 

"  Oh,  dear  no ! "  I  exclaimed  with  considerable 
relief.  "  The  mother  is  dead,  you  know.  Syl 
vester,  that  is  rny  friend  who  sent  this,  shot 
her  when  the  baby  was  only  three  days  old." 
But  the  expression  of  Mrs.  Brown's  face  at  this 
moment  was  so  alarming,  that  I  saw  that  noth 
ing  but  the  fullest  explanation  would  save  me. 
Hastily,  and  I  fear  not  very  coherently,  I  told 
her  all. 

She  relaxed  sweetly.  She  said  I  had  fright 
ened  her  with  my  talk  about  lions.  Indeed,  I 
think  my  picture  of  poor  Baby,  albeit  a  trifle 
highly  colored,  touched  her  motherly  heart. 
She  was  even  a  little  vexed  at  what  she  called 
Sylvester's  "  hardheartedness."  Still  I  was  not 
without  some  apprehension.  It  was  two  months 
since  I  had  seen  him ;  and  Sylvester's  vague 
allusion  to  his  "  slinging  an  ugly  left "  pained 
me.  I  looked  at  sympathetic  little  Mrs.  Brown ; 
and  the  thought  of  Watson's  pups  covered  me 
with  guilty  confusion. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  agreed  to  sit  up  with  me 
until  he  arrived.  One  o'clock  came,  but  no 
Bab}-.  Two  o'clock,  three  o'clock,  passed.  It 
was  almost  four  when  there  was  a  wild  clattei 


186  BABY   SYLVESTER. 

of  horses'  hoofs  outside,  and  with  a  jerk  a 
wagon  stopped  at  the  door.  In  an  instant  I 
had  opened  it,  and  confronted  a  stranger.  Al 
most  at  the  same  moment,  the  horses  attempted 
to  run  away  with  the  wagon. 

The  stranger's  appearance  was,  to  say  the 
least,  disconcerting.  His  clothes  were  badly 
torn  and  frayed ;  his  linen  sack  hung  from  his 
shoulders  like  a  herald's  apron ;  one  of  his 
hands  was  bandaged  ;  his  face  scratched ;  and 
there  was  no  hat  on  his  dishevelled  head.  To 
add  to  the  general  effect,  he  had  evidently 
sought  relief  from  his  woes  in  drink ;  and  he 
swayed  from  side  to  side  as  he  clung  to  the 
door-handle,  and,  in  a  very  thick  voice,  stated 
that  he  had  "  suthin  "  for  me  outside.  When 
he  had  finished,  the  horses  made  another  plunge. 

Mrs.  Brown  thought  they  must  be  frightened 
at  something. 

"  Frightened ! "  laughed  tjie  stranger  with 
bitter  irony.  "  Oh,  no  !  Hossish  ain't  frightened ! 
On'y  ran  away  four  timesh  comin'  here.  Oh, 
no  !  Nobody's  frightened.  Every  thin's  all  ri'. 
Ain't  it,  Bill  ? "  he  said,  addressing  the  driver. 
"  On'y  been  overboard  twish  ;  knecked  down  a 
hatchway  once.  Thash  nothin' !  On'y  two 
men  unner  doctor's  han's  at  Stockton.  Thash 
nothin' !  Six  hunner  dollarsh  cover  all  dam 
mish." 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  187 

I  was  too  much  disheartened  to  reply,  but 
moved  toward  the  wagon.  The  stranger  eyed 
me  with  an  astonishment  that  almost  sobered 
him. 

"  Do  you  reckon  to  tackle  that  animile  your 
self?"  he  asked,  as  he  surveyed  me  from  head 
to  foot. 

I  did  not  speak,  but,  with  an  appearance  of 
boldness  I  was  far  from  feeling,  walked  to  the 
wagon,  and  called  "  Baby !  " 

"  All  ri'.  Cash  loose  them  straps,  Bill,  and 
stan'  clear." 

The  straps  were  cut  loose  ;  and  Baby,  the  re 
morseless,  the  terrible,  quietly  tumbled  to  the 
ground,  and,  rolling  to  my  side',  rubbed  his 
foolish  head  against  me. 

I  think  the  astonishment  of  the  two  men  was 
beyond  any  vocal  expression.  Without  a  word, 
the  drunken  stranger  got  into  the  wagon,  and 
drove  away. 

And  Baby  ?  He  had  grown,  it  is  true,  a  trifle 
larger ;  but  he  was  thin,  and  bore  the  marks 
of  evident  ill  usage.  His  beautiful  coat  was 
matted  and  unkempt;  and  his  claws,  those 
bright  steel  hooks,  had  been  ruthlessly  pared  to 
the  quick.  His  eyes  were  furtive  and  restless ; 
and  the  old  expression-  of  stupid  good  humor 
had  changed  to  one  of  intelligent  distrust.  His 
intercourse  with  mankind  had  evidently  quick 


188  BABY   SYLVESTER. 

ened  his  intellect,  without  broadening  his  moral 
nature. 

I  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  Mrs.  Brown 
from  smothering  him  in  blankets,  and  ruining 
his  digestion  with  the  delicacies  of  her  larder ; 
but  I  at  last  got  him  completely  rolled  up  in 
the  corner  of  my  room,  and  asleep.  I  lay  awake 
some  time  later  with  plans  for  his  future.  I 
finally  determined  to  take  him  to  Oakland  — 
where  I  had  built  a  little  cottage,  and  always 
spent  my  Sundays  —  the  very  next  day.  And 
in  the  midst  of  a  rosy  picture  of  domestic 
felicity,  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke,  it  was  broad  day.  My  eyes 
at  once  sought  the  corner  where  Baby  had 
been  lying ;  but  he  was  gone.  I  sprang  from 
the  bed,  looked  under  it,  searched  the  closet, 
but  in  vain.  The  door  was  still  locked ;  but 
there  were  the  marks  of  his  blunted  claws  upon 
the  sill  of  the  window  that  I  had  forgotten  to 
close.  He  had  evidently  escaped  that  way. 
But  where?  The  window  opened  upon  a 
balcony,  to  which  the  only  other  entrance  was 
through  the  hall.  He  must  be  still  in  the 
house. 

My  hand  was  already  upon  the  bell-rope  ;  but 
I  stayed  it  in  time.  If  he  had  not  made  him 
self  known,  why  should  I  disturb  the  house  ?  I 
dressed  myself  hurriedly,  and  slipped  into  the 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  189 

hall.  The  first  object  that  met  my  eyes  was  a 
boot  lying  upon  the  stairs.  It  bore  the  marks 
of  Baby's  teeth ;  and,  as  I  looked  along  the  hall, 
I  saw  too  plainly  that  the  usual  array  of  freshly- 
blackened  boots  and  shoes  before  the  lodgers' 
doors  was  not  there.  As  I  ascended  the  stairs, 
I  found  another,  but  with  the  blacking  care 
fully  licked  off.  On  the  third  floor  were  two 
or  three  more  boots,  slightly  mouthed ;  but  at 
this  point  Baby's  taste  for  blacking  had  evident 
ly  palled.  A  little  farther  on  was  a  ladder, 
leading  to  an  open  scuttle.  I  mounted  the 
ladder,  and  reached  the  flat  roof,  that  formed  a 
continuous  level  over  the  row  of  houses  to  the 
corner  of  the  street.  Behind  the  chimney  on 
the  very  last  roof,  something  was  lurking..  It 
was  the  fugitive  Baby.  He  was  covered  with 
dust  and  dirt  and  fragments  of  glass.  But  he 
was  sitting  on  his  hind-legs,  and  was  eating  an 
enormous  slab  of  peanut  candy,  with  a  look  of 
mingled  guilt  and  infinite  satisfaction.  He 
even,  I  fancied,  slightly  stroked  his  stomach 
with  his  disengaged  fore-paw  as  I  approached. 
He  knew  that  I  was  looking  for  him  -^  and  the 
expression  of  his  eye  said  plainly,  "  The  past, 
at  least,  is  secure." 

I  hurried  him,  with  the  evidences  of  his 
guilt,  back  to  the  scuttle,  and  descended  on 
tiptoe  to  the  floor  beneath.  Providence  favored 


190  BABY   SYLVESTEE. 

us:  I  met  no  one  on  the  stairs;  and  his  o\vn 
cushioned  tread  was  inaudible.  I  think  he  was 
conscious  of  the  dangers  of  detection ;  for  he 
even  forebore  to  breathe,  or  much  less  chew  the 
last  mouthful  he  had  taken ;  and  he  skulked 
at  my  side  with  the  sirup  dropping  from  his 
motionless  jaws.  I  think  he  would  have  silently 
choked  to  death  just  then,  for  my  sake ;  and 
it  was  not  until  I  had  reached  my  room  again, 
and  threw  myself  panting  on :  the  sofa,  that  I 
saw  how  near  strangulation  he  had  been.  He 
gulped  once  or  twice  apologetically,  and  then 
walked  to  the  corner  of  his  own  accord,  and 
rolled  himself  up  like  an  immense  sugarplum, 
sweating  remorse  and  treacle  at  every  pore. 

I  locked  him  in  when  I  went  to  breakfast, 
when  I  found  Mrs.  Brown's  lodgers  in  a  state 
of  intense  excitement  over  certain  mysterious 
events  of  the  night  before,  and  the  dreadful 
revelations  of  the  morning.  It  appeared  that 
burglars  had  entered  the  block  from  the  scut 
tles;  that,  being  suddenly  alarmed,  they  had 
quitted  our  house  without  committing  any 
depredation,  dropping  even  the  boots  they  had 
collected  in  the  halls;  but  that  a  desperate 
attempt  had  been  made  to  force  the  till  in  the 
confectioner's  shop  on  the  corner,  and  that  the 
glass  show-cases  had  been  ruthlessly  smashed. 
A  courageous  servant  in  No.  4  had  seen  a 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  191 

masked  burglar,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  at 
tempting  to  enter  their  scuttle ;  but,  on  her 
shouting,  "  Away  wid  yees  !  "  he  instantly  fled. 

I  sat  through  this  recital  with  cheeks  that 
burned  uncomfortably;  nor  was  I  the  less 
embarrassed,  on  raising  my  eyes,  to  meet  Mrs. 
Brown's  fixed  curiously  and  mischievously  on 
mine.  As  soon  as  I .  could  make  my  escape 
from  the  table,  I  did  so,  and,  running  rapidly 
up  stairs,  sought  refuge  from  any  possible 
inquiry  in  my  own  room.  Baby  was  still 
asleep  in  the  corner.  It  would  not  be  safe  to 
remove  him  until  the  lodgers  had  gone  down 
town;  and  I  was  revolving  in  my  mind  the 
expediency  of  keeping  him  until  night  veiled 
his  obtrusive  eccentricity  from  the  public  eye, 
when  there  came  a  cautious  tap  at  my  door. 
I  opened  it.  Mrs.  Brown  slipped  in  quietly, 
closed  the  door  softly,  stood  with  her  back 
against  it,  and  her  hand  on  the  knob,  and  beck 
oned  me  mysteriously  towards  her.  Then  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  Is  hair-dye  poisonous  ?  " 

I  was  too  confounded  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  do  !  you  know  what  I  mean,"  she  said 
impatiently.  "  This  stuff."  She  produced  sud 
denly  from  behind  her  a  bottle  with  a  Greek 
label  so  long  as  to  run  two  or  three  times 
spirally  around  it  from  top  to  bottom.  "  He 


192  BABY   SYLVESTEE. 

says  it  isn't  a  dye  :  it's  a  vegetable  preparation, 
for  invigorating  "  — 

"  Who  says  ?  "  I  asked  despairingly. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Parker,  of  course ! "  said  Mrs. 
Brown  severely,  with  the  air  of  having  re 
peated  the  name  a  great  many  times,  —  "the 
old  gentleman  in  the  room  above.  The  simple 
question  I  want  to  ask,"  she  continued  with 
the  calm  manner  of  one  who  has  just  convicted 
another  of  gross  ambiguity  of  language,  "is 
only  this :  If  some  of  this  stuff  were  put  in  a 
saucer,  and  left  carelessly  on  the  table,  and  a 
child,  or  a  baby,  or  a  cat,  or  any  young  animal, 
should  come  in  at  the  window,  and  drink  it  up, 
—  a  whole  saucer  full,  —  because  it  had  a  sweet 
taste,  would  it  be  likely  to  hurt  them  ?  " 

I  cast  an  anxious  glance  at  Baby,  sleeping 
peacefully  in  the  corner,  and  a  very  grateful 
one  at  Mrs.  Brown,  and  said  I  didn't  think  it 
would. 

"Because,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  loftily  as  she 
opened  the  door,  "  I  thought,  if  it  was  poison 
ous,  remedies  might  be  used  in  time.  Because," 
she  added  suddenly,  abandoning  her  lofty  man 
ner,  and  wildly  rushing  to  the  corner  with  a 
frantic  embrace  of  the  unconscious  Babj-, 
"because,  if  any  nasty  stuff  should  turn  its 
booful  hair  a  horrid  green,  or  a  naughty  pink,  it 
would  break  its  own  muzzer's  heart,  it  would  ! '' 


BABY  SYLVESTEE.  193 

But,  before  I  could  assure  Mrs.  Brown  of  the 
inefficiency  of  hair-dye  as  an  internal  applica 
tion,  she  had  darted  from  the  room. 

That  night,  with  the  secrecy  of  defaulters, 
Baby  and  I  decamped  from  Mrs.  Brown's.  Dis 
trusting  the  too  emotional  nature  of  that  noblo 
animal,  the  horse,  I  had  recourse  to  a  hand 
cart,  drawn  by  a  stout  Irishman,  to  convey  my 
charge  to  the  ferry.  Even  then,  Baby  refused 
to  go,  unless  I  walked  by  the  cart,  and  at  times 
rode  in  it. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  as  she  stood  by 
the  door,  wrapped  in  an  immense  shawl,  and 
saw  us  depart,  "  I  wish  it  looked  less  solemn,  — 
less  like  Vpauper's  funeral." 

I  must  admit,  that,  as  I  walked  by  the  cart 
that  night,  I  felt  very  much  as  if  I  were  accom 
panying  the  remains  of  some  humble  friend  to 
his  last  resting-place ;  and  that,  when  I  was 
obliged  to  ride  in  it,  I  never  could  entirely  con 
vince  myself  that  I  was  not  helplessly  overcome 
by  liquor,  or  the  victim  of  an  accident,  en  route 
to  the  hospital.  But  at  last  we  reached  the 
ferry.  On  the  boat,  I  think  no  one  discovered 
Baby,  except  a  drunken  man,  who  approached 
me  to  ask  for  a  light  for  his  cigar,  but  whc 
suddenly  dropped  it,  and  fled  in  dismay  to  the 
gentlemen's  cabin,  where  his  incoherent  ravings 
were  luckily  taken  for  the  earlier  indications  of 
delirium  tremens. 


194  BABY   SYLVESTER. 

Ft  was  nearly  midnight  when  I  reached  my 
little  cottage  on  the  outskirts  of  Oakland;  and 
it  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  and  security  that 
I  entered,  locked  the  door,  and  turned  hfln 
loose  in  the  hall,  satisfied  that  henceforward 
his  depredations  would  be  limited  to  rny  own 
property.  He  was  very  quiet  that  night ;  and 
after  he  had  tried  to  mount  the  hat-rack,  under 
the  mistaken  impression  that  it  was  intended 
for  his  own  gymnastic  exercise,  and  knocked 
all  the  hats  off,  he  went  peaceably  to  sleep  on 
the  rug. 

In  a  week,  with  the  exercise  afforded  him  by 
the  run  of  a  large,  carefully-boarded  enclosure, 
he  recovered  his  health,  strength,  spirits,  and 
much  of  his  former  beauty.  His  presence  was 
unknown  to  my  neighbors,  although  it  was 
noticeable  that  horses  invariably  "shied"  in 
passing  to  the  windward  of  my  house,  and  that 
the  baker  and  milkman  had  great  difficulty  in 
the  delivery  of  their  wares  in  the  morning,  and 
indulged  in  unseemly  and  unnecessary  profanity 
in  so  doing. 

.A  t  the  end  of  the  week,  I  determined  to  invif  e 
a  few  friends  to  see  the  Baby,  and  to  that  pur 
pose  wrote  a  number  of  formal  invitations. 
After  descanting,  at  some  length,  on  the  great 
expense  and  danger  attending  his  capture  and 
training,  I  offered  a  programme  of  the  perform- 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  195 

ance,  of  the  "Infant  Phenomenon  of  Sierran 
Solitudes,"  drawn  up  into  the  highest  profes 
sional  profusion  of  alliteration  and  capital  let 
ters.  A  few  extracts  will  give  the  reader  some 
idea  of  his  educational  progress :  — 

1.  He  will,   rolled  up  in  a  Round  Ball,  roll  down  the 

Wood-Shed   Rapidly,    illustrating  His  manner  of 
Escaping  from  His  Enemy  in  His  Xative  Wilds. 

2.  He  will  Ascend  the  WTell-Pole,  and  remove  from  the 

Very  Top  a  Hat,  and  as  much  of  the  Crown  and 
Brim  thereof,  as  May  be  Permitted. 

3.  He  will  perform  in  a  pantomime,  descriptive  of  the 

Conduct  of  the  Big  Bear,  The  Middle-Sized  Bear, 
and  The  Little  Bear  of  the  Popular  Nursery  Legend. 

4.  He  will  shake  his  chain  Rapidly,  showing  his  Manner 

of  striking  Dismay  and  Terror  in  the  Breasts  of 
Wanderers  in  Ursine  Wildernesses. 

The  morning  of  the  exhibition  came;  but 
an  hour  before  the  performance  the  wretched 
Baby  was  missing.  The  Chinese  cook  could 
not  indicate  his  whereabouts.  I  searched  the 
premises  thoroughly;  and  then,  in  despair, 
tool*  my  hat,  and  hurried  out  into  the  narrow 
lane  that  led  toward  the  open  fields  and  the 
woods  beyond.  But  I  found  no  trace  nor  track 
of  Baby  Sylvester.  I  returned,  after  an  hour's 
fruitless  search,  to  find  my  guests  already 
assembled  on  the  rear  veranda.  I  briefly  re 
iounted  my  disappointment,  my  probable  loss 
and  begged  their  assistance. 


196  BABY   SYLVESTER. 

"  Why,"  said  a  Spanish  friend,  who  prided 
himself  on  his  accurate  knowledge  of  English, 
to  Barker,  who  seemed  to  be  trying  vainly  to 
rise  from  his  reclining  position  on  the  veranda, 
"  why  do  you  not  disengage  yourself  from  the 
veranda  of  our  friend?  And  why,  in  tho 
name  of  Heaven,  do  you  attach  to  yourself  so 
much  of  this  thing,  and  make  to  yourself  such 
unnecessary  contortion?  Ah,"  he  continued, 
suddenly  withdrawing  one  of  his  own  feet  from 
the  veranda  with  an  evident  effort,  "I  am 
myself  attached  !  Surely  it  is  something  here  !  " 

It  evidently  was.  My  guests  were  all  rising 
with  difficulty.  The  floor  of  the  veranda  was 
covered  with  some  glutinous  substance.  It 
was  —  sirup ! 

I  saw  it  all  in  a  flash.  I  ran  to  the  barn. 
The  keg  of  "golden  sirup,"  purchased  only  the 
day  before,  lay  empty  upon  the  floor.  There 
were  sticky  tracks  all  over  the  enclosure,  but 
still  no  Baby. 

"  There's  something  moving  the  ground  over 
there  by  that  pile  of  dirt,"  said  Barker. 

He  was  right.  The  earth  was  shaking  in  one 
corner  of  the  enclosure  like  an  earthquake.  I 
approached  cautiously.  I  saw,  what  I  had  not 
before  noticed,  that  the  ground  was  thrown 
up;  and  there,  in  the  middle  of  an  immense 
grave-like  cavity,  crouched  Baby  Sylvester,  still 


BABY   SYLVESTER.  197 

digging,  and    slowly  but    surely  sinking  from 
sight  in  a  mass  of  dust  and  clay. 

What  were  his  intentions  ?  Whether  he  was" 
stung  by  remorse,  and  wished  to  hide  himself 
from  my  reproachful  eyes,  or  whether  he  was 
simply  trying  to  dry  his  sirup-besmeared  coat, 
I  never  shall  know ;  for  that  day,  alas !  was  his 
last  with  me. 

He  was  pumped  upon  for  two  hours,  at  the 
end  of  which  time  he  still  yielded  a  thin 
treacle.  He  was  then  taken,  and  carefully 
inwrapped  in  blankets,  and  locked  up  in  the 
store-room.  The  next  morning  he  was  gone ! 
The  lower  portion  of  the  window  sash  and  pane 
were  gone  too.  His.  successful  experiments  on 
the  fragile  texture  of  glass  at  the  confectioner's, 
on  the  first  day  of  his  entrance  to  civilization, 
had  not  been  lost  upon  him.  His  first  essay  at 
combining  cause  and  effect  ended  in  his  escape. 

Where  he  went,  where  he  hid,  who  captured 
him,  if  he  did  not  succeed  in  reaching  the  foot 
hills  beyond  Oakland,  even  the  offer  of  a  large 
reward,  backed  by  the  efforts  of  an  intelligent 
police,  could  not  discover.  I  never  saw  him 
again  from  that  day  until  — 

Did  I  see  him?  I  was  in  a  horse-car  on 
Sixth  Avenue,  a  few  days  ago,  when  the  horses 
suddenly  became  unmanageable,  and  left  the 
track  for  the  sidewalk,  amid  the  oaths  and  exe- 


198  BABY  SYLVESTER. 

orations  of  the  driver.  Immediately  in  front 
of  the  car  a  crowd  had  gathered  around  two 
performing  bears  and  a  showman.  One  of  the 
animals,  thin,  emaciated,  and  the  mere  wreck 
of  his  native  strength,  attracted  my  attention. 
I  endeavored  to  attract  his.  He  turned  a  pair 
of  bleared,  sightless  eyes  in  my  direction ;  but 
there  was  no  si<m  of  recognition.  I  leaned 

o  o 

from  the  car-window,  and  called  softly,  "  Baby !  " 
But  he  did  not  heed.  I  closed  the  window. 
The  car  was  just  moving  on,  when  he  suddenly 
turned,  and,  either  by  accident  or  design,  thrust 
a  callous  paw  through  the  glass. 

"  It's  worth  a  dollar  and  half  to  put  in  a  new 
pane,"  said  the  conductor,  "if  folks  will  play 
with  bears !  "  — 


AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

IN  1858  Fiddletown  considered  her  a  very 
pretty  woman.  She  had  a  quantity  of  light 
chestnut  hair,  a  good  figure,  a  dazzling  complex 
ion,  and  a  certain  languid  grace  which  passed 
easily  for  gentlewomanlmess.  She  always  dressed 
becomingly,  and  in  what  Fiddletown  accepted 
as  the  latest  fashion.  She  had  only  two  blem 
ishes  :  one  of  her  velvety  eyes,  when  examined 
closely,  had  a  slight  cast ;  and  her  left  cheek 
bore  a  small  scar  left  by  a  single  drop  of  vitriol 
—  happily  the  only  drop  of  an  entire  phial  — 
thrown  upon  her  by  one  of  her  own  jealous  sex, 
that  reached  the  pretty  face  it  was  intended  to 
mar.  But,  when  the  observer  had  studied  the 
eyes  sufficiently  to  notice  this  defect,  he  was 
generally  incapacitated  for  criticism ;  and  even 
the  scar  on  her  cheek  was  thought  by  some  to 
add  piquancy  to  her  smile.  The  youthful  edit 
or  of  "  The  Fiddletown  Avalanche  "  had  said 
privately  that  it  was  "  an  exaggerated  dimple." 
Col.  Starbottle  was  instantly  "  reminded  of  the 
beautifying  patches  of  the  days  of  Queen  Anne, 

190 


200  AN  EPISODE  OF 


but  more  particularly,  sir,  of  the  blankest  beau 
tiful  women,  that,  blank  you,  you  ever  laid  your 
two  blank  eyes  upon,  —  a  Creole  woman,  sir,  in 
NCAV  Orleans.  And  this  woman  had  a  scar,  —  a 
line  extending,  blank  me,  from  her  eye  to  her 
blank  chin.  And  this  woman,  sir,  thrilled  you, 
sir  ;  '  maddened  you,  sir  ;  absolutely  sent  your 
blank  soul  to  perdition  with  her  blank  fascina 
tion  !  And  one  day  I  said  to  her,  '  Celeste,  how 
in  blank  did  you  come  by  that  beautiful  scar, 
blank  you  ?  '  And  she  said  to  me,  '  Star,  there 
isn't  another  white  man  that  I'd  confide  in  but 
you  ;  but  I  made  that  scar  myself,  purposely,  I 
did,  blank  me.'  These  were  her  very  words, 
sir,  and  perhaps  you  think  it  a  blank  lie,  sir  ; 
but  I'll  put  up  any  blank  sum  you  can  name 
and  prove  it,  blank  me." 

Indeed,  most  of  the  male  population  of  Fid- 
dletown  were  or  had  been  in  love  with  her.  Of 
this  number,  about  one-half  believed  that  their 
love  was  returned,  with  the  exception,  possibly, 
of  her  own  husband.  He  alone  had  been  known 
to  express  scepticism. 

The  name  of  the  gentleman  who  enjoyed  this 
infelicitous  distinction  was  Tretherick.  He  had 
been  divorced  from  an  excellent  wife  to  marry 
this  Fiddletown  enchantress.  She,  also,  had  been 
divorced  ;  but  it  was  hinted  that  some  previous 
experiences  of  hers  in  that  legal  formality  had 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  201 

made  it  perhaps  less  novel,  and  probably  less 
sacrificial.  I  would  not  have  it  inferred  from 
this  that  she  was  deficient  in  sentiment,  or 
devoid  of  its  highest  moral  expression.  Her 
intimate  friend  had  written  (on  the  occasion  of 
her  second  divorce),  "  The  cold  world  does  not 
understand  Clara  yet ; "  and  Col.  Starbottle  had 
remarked  blankly,  that  with  the  exception  of 
a  single  woman  in  Opelousas  Parish,  La.,  she 
had  more  soul  than  the  whole  ca,boodle  of 
them  put  together.  Few  indeed  could  read 
those  lines  entitled  "  Infelissimus,"  commencing, 
"  Why  waves  no  cypress  o'er  this  brow  ?  "  origi 
nally  published  in  "  The  Avalanche,  "  over  the 
signature  of  "  The  Lady  Clare,"  without  feeling 
the  tear  of  sensibility  tremble  on  his  eyelids,  or 
the  glow  of  virtuous  indignation  mantle  his 
cheek,  at  the  low  brutality  and  pitiable  jocularity 
of  "  The  Dutch  Flat  Intelligencer,"  which  the 
next  week  had  suggested  the  exotic  character 
of  the  cypress,  and  its  entire  absence  from  Ficl- 
dletown,  as  a  reasonable  answer  to  the  query. 

Indeed,  it  was  this  tendency  to  elaborate  her 
feelings  in  a  metrical  manner,  and  deliver  them 
to  the  cold  world  through  the  medium  of  the 
newspapers,  that  first  attracted  the  attention  of 
Tretherick.  Several  poems  descriptive  of  the 
effects  of  California  scenery  upon  a  too  sensitive 
soul,  and  of  the  vague  yearnings  for  the  infinite, 


202  AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

which  an  enforced  study  of  the  heartlessness  of 
California  society  produced  in  the  poetic  breast, 
impressed  Mr.  Tretherick,  who  was  then  driving 
a  six-mule  freight-wagon  between  Knight's 
Ferry  and  Stockton,  to  seek  out  the  unknown 
poetess.  Mr.  Tretherick  was  himself  dimly 
conscious  of  a  certain  hidden  sentiment  in  his 
own  nature ;  and  it  is  possible  that  some  reflec 
tions  on  the  vanity  of  his  pursuit,  —  he  supplied 
several  mining-camps  with  whiskey  and  tobacco, 
—  in  conjunction  with  the  dreariness  of  the 
dusty  plain  on  which  he  habitually  drove,  may 
have  touched  some  chord  in  sympathy  with  this 
sensitive  woman.  Howbeit,  after  a  brief  court 
ship,  —  as  brief  as  was  consistent  with  some 
previous  legal  formalities,  —  they  were  married ; 
and  Mr.  Tretherick  brought  his  blushing  bride 
to  Fiddletown,  or  "  Fid<51etown,"  as  Mrs.  Treth 
erick  preferred  to  call  it  in  her  poems. 

The  union  was  not  a  felicitous  one.  It  was 
not  long  before  Mr.  Tretherick  discovered  that 
the  sentiment  he  had  fostered  while  freighting 
between  Stockton  and  Knight's  Ferry  was  dif 
ferent  from  that  which  his  wife  had  evolved  from 
the  contemplation  of  California  scenery  and 
her  own  soul.  Being  a  man  of  imperfect  logic, 
this  caused  him  to  beat  her;  and  she,  being 
equally  faulty  in  deduction,  was  impelled  to  a 
certain  degree  of  unfaithfulness  on  the  same 


AN    EPISODE   OF    FIDDLETOWN.  20? 

premise.  Then  Mr.  Tretherick  began  to  drink, 
and  Mrs.  Tretherick  to  contribute  regularly  to 
the  columns  of  "  The  Avalanche."  It  was  at 
tliis  time  that  Col.  Starbottle  discovered  a  simi 
larity  in  Mrs.  Tretherick's  verse  to  the  genius 
of  Sappho,  and  pointed  it  out  to  the  citizens  of 
Fiddletown  in  a  two-columned  criticism,  signed 
"  A.  S.,"  also  published  in  "  The  Avalanche," 
and  supported  by  extensive  quotation.  As 
"  The  Avalanche  "  did  not  possess  a  font  of 
Greek  type,  the  editor  was  obliged  to  reproduce 
the  Leucadian  numbers  in  the  ordinary  Roman 
letter,  to  the  intense  disgust  of  Col.  Starbottle, 
and  the  vast  delight  of  Fiddletown,  who  saw  fit 
to  accept  the  text  as  an  excellent  imitation  of 
Choctaw,  —  a  language  with  which  the  colonel, 
as  a  whilom  resident  of  the  Indian  Territories, 
was  supposed  to  be  familiar.  Indeed,  the  next 
week's  "  Intelligencer "  contained  some  vile 
doggerel,  supposed  to  be  an  answer  to  Mrs. 
Tretherick's  poem,  ostensibly  written  by  the 
wife  of  a  Digger  Indian  chief,  accompanied  by 
a  glowing  eulogium,  signed  "A.  S.  S." 

The  result  of  this  jocularity  was  briefly  given 
in  a  later  copy  of  "  The  Avalanche."  "  An  un 
fortunate  rencounter  took  place  on  Monday  last, 
between  the  Hon.  Jackson  Flash  of  "  The  Dutch 
Flat  Intelligencer "  and  the  well-known  Col. 
Starbottle  of  this  place,  in  front  of  the  Eureka 


204  AN   EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

Saloon.  Two  shots  were  fired  by  the  parties 
without  injury  to  either,  although  it  is  said  that 
a  passing  Chinaman  received  fifteen  buckshot  in 
the  calves  of  his  legs  from  the  colonel's  double- 
barrelled  shot-gun,  which  were  not  intended 
for  him.  John  will  learn  to  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  Melican  man's  fire-arms  hereafter.  The 
cause  of  the  affray  is  not  known,  although  it  is 
hinted  that  there  is  a  lady  in  the  case.  The 
rumor  that  points  to  a  well-known  and  beautiful 
poetess  whose  lucubrations  have  often  graced 
our  columns  seems  to  gain  credence  from  those 
that  are  posted." 

Meanwhile  the  passiveness  displayed  by  Treth- 
erick  under  these  trying  circumstances  was 
fully  appreciated  in  the  gulches.  "  The  old 
man's  head  is  level,"  said  one  long-booted  phi 
losopher.  "  Ef  the  colonel  kills  Flash,  Mrs. 
Tretherick  is  avenged  :  if  Flash  drops  the  colo 
nel,  Tretherick  is  all  right.  Either  way,  he's 
got  a  sure  thing."  During  this  delicate  condi 
tion  of  affairs,  Mrs.  Tretherick  one  day  left  her 
husband's  home,  and  took  refuge  at  the  Fiddle- 
town  Hotel,  with  only  the  clothes  she  had  on 
her  back.  Here  she  staid  for  several  weeks, 
during  which  period  it  is  only  justice  to  say 
that  she  bore  herself  with  the  strictest  pro 
priety. 

It  was  a  clear  morning  in  early  spring  that 


AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN.  205 

Mrs.  Tretherick,  unattended,  left  the  hotel,  and 
walked  down  the  narrow  street  toward  the 
fringe  of  dark  pines  which  indicated  the  extreme 
limits  of  Fiddletown.  The  few  loungers  at 
that  early  hour  were  pre-occupied  with  the 
departure  of  the  Wingdown  coach  at  the  other 
extremity  of  the  street;  and  Mrs.  Tretherick 
reached  the  suburbs  of  the  settlement  without 
discomposing  observation.  Here  she  took  a 
cross  street  or  road,  running  at  right  angles  with 
the  main  thoroughfare  of  Fiddletown,  and  pass 
ing  through  a  belt  of  woodland.  It  was  evi 
dently  the  exclusive  and  aristocratic  avenue  of 
the  town.  The  dwellings  were  few,  ambitious, 
and  uninterrupted  by  shops.  And  here  she  was 
joined  by  Col.  Starbottle. 

The  gallant  colonel,  notwithstanding  that  he 
bore  the  swelling  port  which  usually  distin 
guished  him,  that  his  coat  was  tightly  buttoned, 
and  his  boots  tightly  fitting,  and  that  his  cane, 
hooked  over  his  arm,  swung  jauntily,  was  not 
entirely  at  his  ease.  Mrs.  Tretherick,  however, 
vouchsafed  him  a  gracious  smile  and  a  glance 
of  her  dangerous  eyes ;  and  the  colonel,  with  an 
embarrassed  cough  and  a  slight  strut,  took  his 
place  at  her  side. 

"  The  coast  is  clear,"  said  the  colonel,  "  and 
Tretherick  is  over  at  Dutch  Flat  on  a  spree. 
There  is  no  one  in  the  house  but  a  Chinaman ; 


206  AN  EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

and  you  need  fear  no  trouble  from  him.  I"  he 
continued,  with  a  slight  inflation  of  the  chest 
that  imperilled  the  security  of  his  button,  "  I 
will  see  that  you  are  protected  in  the  removal 
of  your  property." 

"  I'm  sure  it's  very  kind  of  you,  and  so  dis 
interested  !  "  simpered  the  lady  as  they  walked 
along.  "  It's  so  pleasant  to  meet  some  one  who 
has  soul,  —  some  one  to  sympathize  with  in  a 
community  so  hardened  and  heartless  as  this." 
And  Mrs.  Tretherick  cast  down  her  eyes,  but 
not  until  they  wrought  their  perfect  and  ac 
cepted  work  upon  her  companion. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  of  course,"  said  the  colonel, 
glancing  nervously  up  and  down  the  street,  — 
"yes,  certainly."  Perceiving,  however,  that 
there  was  no  one  in  sight  or  hearing,  he  pro 
ceeded  at  once  to  inform  Mrs.  Tretherick  that 
the  great  trouble  of  his  life,  in  fact,  had  been 
the  possession  of  too  much  soul.  That  many 
women  —  as  a  gentleman  she  would  excuse 
him,  of  course,  from  mentioning  names  —  but 
many  beautiful  women  had  often  sought  his 
society,  but  being  deficient,' madam,  absolutely 
deficient,  in  this  quality,  he  could  not  recipro 
cate.  But  when  two  natures  thoroughly  in 
sympathy,  despising  alike  the  sordid  trammels 
of  a  low  and  vulgar  community,  and  the  con 
ventional  restraints  of  a  hypocritical  society,  — 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  207 

when  two  souls  in  perfect  accord  met  and 
mingled  in  poetical  union,  then  —  but  here  the 
colonel's  speech,  which  had  been  remarkable  for  a 
certain  whiskey-and-watery  fluency,  grew  husky, 
almost  inaudible,  and  decidedly  incoherent. 
Possibly  Mrs.  Tretherick  may  have  heard  some 
thing  like  it  before,  and  was  enabled  to  fill  the 
hiatus.  Nevertheless,  the  cheek  that  was  on 
the  side  of  the  colonel  was  quite  virginal  and 
bashfully  conscious  until  they  reached  their 
destination. 

It  was  a  pretty  little  cottage,  quite  fresh  and 
warm  with  paint,  very  pleasantly  relieved 
against  a  platoon  of  pines,  some  of  whose  fore 
most  files  had  been  displaced  to  give  freedom 
to  the  fenced  enclosure  in  which  it  sat.  In  the 
vivid  sunlight  and  perfect  silence,  it  had  a  new, 
uninhabited  look,  as  if  the  carpenters  and 
painters  had  just  left  it.  At  the  farther  end  of 
the  lot,  a  Chinaman  was  stolidly  digging ;  but 
there  was  no  other  sign  of  occupancy.  "  The 
coast,"  as  the  colonel  had  said,  was  indeed 
"  clear."  Mrs.  Tretherick  paused  at  the  gate. 
The  colonel  would  have  entered  with  her,  but 
was  stopped  by  a  gesture.  "  Come  for  me  in  a 
couple  of  hours,  and  I  shall  have  every  thing 
packed,"  she  said,  as  she  smiled,  and  extended 
her  hand.  The  colonel  seized  and  pressed  it 
with  great  fervor.  Perhaps  the  pressure  was 


208  AN   EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

slightly  returned ;  for  the  gallant  colonel  was 
impelled  to  innate  his  chest,  and  trip  away  as 
smartly  as  his  stubby-toed,  high-heeled  boots 
would  permit.  When  he  had  gone,  Mrs.  Treth- 
erick  opened  the  door,  listened  a  moment  in 
the  deserted  hall,  and  then  ran  quickly  up  stairs 
to  what  had  been  her  bedroom. 

Every  thing  there  was  unchanged  as  on  the 
night  she  left  it.  On  the  dressing-table  stood 
her  bandbox,  as  she  remembered  to  have  left  it 
when  she  took  out  her  bonnet.  On  the  mantle 
lay  the  other  glove  she  had  forgotten  in  her 
flight.  The  two  lower  drawers  of  the  bureau 
were  half  open  (she  had  forgotten  to  shut  them)  ; 
and  on  its  marble  top  lay  her  shawl-pin  and  a 
soiled  cuff.  What  other  recollections  came  upon 
her  I  know  not ;  but  she  suddenly  grew  quite 
white,  shivered,  and  listened  with  a  beating 
heart,  and  her  hand  upon  the  door.  Then  she 
stepped .  to  the  mirror,  and  half  fearfully,  half 
curiously,  parted  with  her  fingers  the  braids  of 
her  blonde  hair  above  her  little  pink  ear,  until 
she  came  upon  an  ugly,  half-healed  scar.  She 
gazed  at  this,  moving  her  pretty  head  up  and 
down  to  get  a  better  light  upon  it,  until  the 
slight  cast  in  her  velvety  eyes  became  very 
strongly  marked  indeed.  Then  she  turned 
away  with  a  light,  reckless,  foolish  laugh,  and 
ran  to  the  closet  where  hung  her  precious 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  209 

dresses.  These  she  inspected  nervously,  and 
missing  suddenly  a  favorite  black  silk  from  its 
accustomed  peg,  for  a  moment,  thought  she 
should  have  fainted.  But  discovering  it  the 
next  instant  lying  upon  a  trunk  where  she  had 
thrown  it,  a  feeling  of  thankfulness  to  a  supe 
rior  Being  who  protects  the  friendless,  for  the 
first  time  sincerely  thrilled  her.  Then,  albeit 
she  was  hurried  for  time,  she  could  not  resist 
trying  the  effect  of  a  certain  lavender  neck- 
ribbon  upon  the  dress  she  was  then  wearing, 
before  the  mirror.  And  then  suddenly  she 
became  aware  of  a  child's  voice  close  beside  her, 
and  she  stopped.  And  then  the  child's  voice 
repeated,  "  Is  it  mamma  ?  " 

Mrs.  Tretherick  faced  quickly  about.  Stand 
ing  in  the  doorway  was  a  little  girl  of  six  or 
seven.  Her  dress  had  been  originally  fine,  but 
was  torn  and  dirty ;  and  her  hair,  which  was  a 
very  violent  red,  was  tuirbled  serio-comically 
about  her  forehead.  Fo  ail  diL,  she  was  a 
picturesque  little  thing,  even  through  whose 
childish  timidity  there  was  a  certain  self-sus 
tained  air  which  is  apt  to  come  upon  children 
who  are  left  much  to  themselves.  She  was 
holding  under  her  arm  a  rag  doll,  apparently  of 
her  own  workmanship,  and  nearly  as  large  as 
herself,  —  a  doll  with  a  cylindrical  head,  and 
features  roughly  indicated  with  charcoal.  A 


210  AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

long  shawl,  evidently  belonging  to  a  grown 
person,  dropped  from  her  shoulders,  and  swept 
the  floor. 

The  spectacle  did  not  excite  Mrs.  Trether 
ick's  delight.  Perhaps  she  had  but  a  small 
sense  of  humor.  Certainly,  when  the  child, 
still  standing  in  the  doorway,  again  asked,  "  Is 
it  mamma  ? "  she  answered  sharply,  "  No,  it 
isn't,"  and  turned  a  severe  look  upon  the  in 
truder. 

The  child  retreated  a  step,  and  then,  gaining 
courage  with  the  distance,  said  in  deliciously 
imperfect  speech,  — 

"  Dow  'way  then  !  why  don't  you  dow  away  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  eying  the  shawl. 
Suddenly  she  whipped  it  off  the  child's  shoul 
ders,  and  said  angrily,  — 

"How  dared  you  take  my  things,  you  bad 
child?" 

"Is  it  yours?  Then  you  are  my  mamma; 
ain't  you  ?  You  are  mamma !  "  she  continued 
gleefully ;  and,  before  Mrs.  Tretherick  could 
avoid  her,  she  had  dropped  her  doll,  and,  catch 
ing  the  woman's  skirts  with  both  hands,  was 
dancing  up  and  down  before  her. 

"  What's  your  name,  child  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Treth 
erick  coldly,  removing  the  small  and  not  very 
white  hands  from  her  garments. 

"  Tarrv." 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  211 

"Tarry?" 

"  Yeth.     Tarry.     Tarowline." 

"  Caroline  ?  " 

"  Yeth.     Tarowline  Tretherick." 

"  Wliose  child  are  you  ? "  demanded  Mrs. 
Tretherick  still  more  coldly,  to  keep  down  a 
rising  fear. 

"  Why,  yours,"  said  the  little  creature  with  a 
laugh.  "  I'm  your  little  clurl.  You're  my 
mamma,  my  new  mamma.  Don't  you  know  my 
ole  mamma's  dorn  ^iway,  never  to  turn  back 
any  more?  I  don't  live  wid  my  ol'  mamma 
now.  I  live  wid  you  and  papa." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Tretherick  snappishly. 

"  I  fink  it's  free  days,"  said  Carry  reflectively. 

"  You  think !  Don't  you  know  ?  "  sneered 
Mrs.  Tretherick.  "  Then,  where  did  you  come 
from?" 

Carry's  lip  began  to  work  under  this  sharp 
cross-examination.  With  a  great  effort  and  a 
small  gulp,  she  got  the  better  of  it,  and  an 
swered,  — 

"  Papa,  papa  fetched  me,  —  from  Miss  Sim 
mons  —  from  Sacramento,  last  week." 

"  Last  week !  You  said  three  days  just  now," 
returned  Mrs  Tretherick  with  severe  delibera 
tion. 

"I  mean  a  monf,"  said  Carry,  now  utterly 
adrift  in  sheer  helplessness  and  confusion. 


212  AN    EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about  ?  " 
demanded  Mrs.  Tretherick  shrilly,  restraining 
an  impulse  to  shake  the  little  figure  before  her, 
and  precipitate  the  truth  by  specific  gravity. 

But  the  flaming  red  head  here  suddenly 
disappeared  in  the  folds  of  Mrs.  Tretherick's 
dress,  as  if  it  were  trying  to  extinguish  itself 
forevsr. 

"  There  now — stop  thau  sniffling,"  said  Mrs. 
Tretherick,  extricating  her  dress  from  the  moist 
embraces  of  the  child,  an^  feeling  exceedingly 
uncomfortable.  "  Wipe  your  face  now,  and  run 
away,  and  don't  bother.  Stop,"  she  continued, 
as  Carry  moved  away.  "  Where's  your  papa  ?  " 

"  He's  dorn  away  too.  He's  sick.  He's  been 
dorn  "  —  she  hesitated  —  "  two,  free,  days." 

"  Who  takes  care  of  you,  child  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Tretherick,  eying  her  curiously. 

"  John,  the  Chinaman.  I  tresses  myselth. 
John  tooks  and  makes  the  beds." 

"  Well,  now,  run  away  and  behave  yourself, 
and  don't  bother  me  any  more,"  said  Mrs. 
Tretherick,  remembering  the  object  of  her  visit. 
"  Stop  —  where  are  you  going  ?  '  she  added,  as 
the  child  began  to  ascend  the  stairs,  dragging 
the  long  doll  after  her  by  one  helpless  leg. 

"  Doin  up  stairs  to  play  and  be  dood,  and  not 
bother  mamma." 

"  I  ain't  your  mamma,"  shouted  Mrs.  Trether- 


AN   EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN.  213 

ick,  and   then  she  swiftly  re-entered  her  bed 
room,  and  slammed  the  door. 

Once  inside,  she  drew  forth  a  large  trunk 
from  the  closet,  and  set  to  work  with  querulous 
and  fretful  haste  to  pack  her  wardrobe.  She 
tore  her  best  dress  in  taking  it  from  the  hook 
on  which  it  hung  :  she  scratched  her  soft  hands 
twice  with  an  ambushed  pin.  All  the  while, 
she  kept  up  an  indignant  commentary  on  the 
events  of  the  past  few  moments.  She  said  to 
herself  she  saw  it  all.  Tretherick  had  sent  for 
this  child  of  his  first  wife  —  this  child  of  whose 
existence  he  had  never  seemed  to  care, —  just  to 
insult  her,  to  fill  her  place.  Doubtless  the  first 
wife  herself  would  follow  soon,  or  perhaps 
there  would  be  a  third.  •  Red  hair,  not  auburn, 
but  red,  —  of  course  the  child,  this  Caroline, 
looked  like  its  mother,  and,  if  so,  she  was  any 
thing  but  pretty.  Or  the  whole  thing  had 
been  prepared :  this  red-haired  child,  the  image 
of  its  mother,  had  been  kept  at  a  convenient 
distance  at  Sacramento,  ready  to  be  sent  for 
when  needed.  She  remembered  his  occasional 
visits  there  on  —  business,  as  he  said.  Perhaps 
the  mother  already  was  there ;  but  no,  she  had 
gone  East.  Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Tretherick,  in 
her  then  state  of  mind,  preferred  to  dwell  upon 
the  fact  that  she  might  be  there.  She  was 
dimly  conscious,  also,  of  a  certain  satisfaction 


214  AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETO'WN. 

in  exaggerating  her  feelings.  Surely  no  woman 
had  ever  been  so  shamefully  abused.  In  fancy, 
she  sketched  a  picture  of  herself  sitting  alone 
and  deserted,  at  sunset,  among  the  fallen 
columns  of  a  ruined  temple,  in  a  melancholy 
yet  graceful  attitude,  while  her  husband  drove 
rapidly  away  in  a  luxurious  coach-and-four, 
with  a  red-haired  woman  at  his  side.  Sitting 
upon  the  trunk  she  had  just  packed,  she  partly 
composed  a  lugubrious  poem,  describing  her 
sufferings,  as,  wandering  alone,  and  poorly  clad, 
she  came  upon  her  husband  and  "  another " 
flaunting  in  silks  and  diamonds.  She  pictured 
herself  dying  of  consumption,  brought  on  by 
sorrow, — a  beautiful  wreck,  yet  still  fascinating, 
gazed  upon  adoringly  by  the  editor  of  "  The 
Avalanche,"  and  Col.  Starbottle.  And  where 
was  Col.  Starbottle  all  this  while  ?  Why  didn't 
he  come?  He,  at  least,  understood  her.  He 
— she  laughed  the  reckless,  light  laugh  of  a  few 
moments  before ;  and  then  her  face  suddenly 
grew  grave,  as  it  had  not  a  few  moments  before. 
What  was  that  little  red-haired  imp  doing  all 
this  time?  Why  was  she  so  quiet?  She 
opened  the  door  noiselessly,  and  listened.  She 
fancied  that  she  heard,  above  the  multitudinous 
small  noises  and  creakings  and  warpings  of 
the  vacant  house,  a  smaller  voice  singing  on  the 
floor  above.  This,  as  she  remembered,  was 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  215 

only  an  open  attic  that  had  been  used  as  a  store 
room.  With  a  half-guilty  consciousness,  she 
crept  softly  up  stairs,  and,  pushing  the  ioor 
partly  open,  looked  within. 

Athwart  the  long,  low-studded  attic,  a  slant 
sunbeam  from  a  single  small  window  lay,  filled 
with  dancing  motes,  and  only  half  illuminating 
the  barren,  dreary  apartment.  In  the  ray  of 
this  sunbeam  she  saw  the  child's  glowing  hair, 
as  if  crowned  by  a  red  aureola,  as  she  sat  upon 
the  floor  with  her  exaggerated  doll  between  her 
knees.  She  appeared  to  be  talking  to  it ;  and  it 
was  not  long  before  Mrs.  Tretherick  observed 
that  she  was  rehearsing  the  interview  of  a  half- 
hour  before.  She  catechised  the  doll  severely, 
cross-examining  it  in  regard  to  the  duration  of 
its  stay  there,  and  generally  on  the  measure 
of  time.  The  imitation  of  Mrs.  Tretherick's 
manner  was  exceedingly  successful,  and  the 
conversation  almost  a  literal  reproduction, 
with  a  single  exception.  After  she  had  in 
formed  the  doll  that  she  was  not  her  mother, 
at  the  close  of  the  interview  she  added  patheti 
cally,  "that  if  she  was  dood,  very  dood,  she 
might  be  her  mamma,  and  love  her  very  much." 

I  have  already  hinted  that  Mrs.  Tretherick 
was  deficient  in  a  sense  of  humor.  Perhaps 
it  was  for  this  reason  that  this  whole  scene 
affected  her  most  unpleasantly;  and  the  con- 


216  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

elusion  sent  the  blood  tingling  to  her  cheek 
There  was  something,  too,  inconceivably  lonely 
in  the  situation.  The  unfurnished  vacant 
room,  the  half-lights,  the  monstrous  doll,  whose 
very  size  seemed  to  give  a  pathetic  significance 
to  its  speechlessness,  the  smallness  of  the  one 
animate,  self-centred  figure,  —  all  these  touched 
more  or  less  deeply  the  half-poetic  sensibilities 
of  the  woman.  She  could  not  help  utilizing 
the  impression  as  she  stood  there,  and  thought 
what  a  fine  poem  might  be  constructed  from 
this  material,  if  the  room  were  a  little  darker, 
the  child  lonelier,  —  say,  sitting  beside  a  dead 
mother's  bier,  and  the  wind  wailing  in  the 
turrets.  And  then  she  suddenly  heard  foot 
steps  at  the  door  below,  and  recognized  the 
tread  of  the  colonel's  cane. 

She  flew  swiftly  down  the  stairs,  and  encoun 
tered  the  colonel  in  the  hall.  Here  she  poured 
into  his  astonished  ear  a  voluble  and  exag 
gerated  statement  of  her  discovery,  and  indig 
nant  recital  of  her  wrongs.  "  Don't  tell  me  the 
whole  thing  wasn't  arranged  beforehand ;  for  I 
know  it  was  !  "  she  almost  screamed.  "  And 
think,"  she  added,  "  of  the  heartlessness  of  the 
wretch,  leaving  his  own  child  alone  here  in  that 
way." 

"  It's  a  blank  shame  !  "  stammered  the  colonel 
without  the  least  idea  of  what  he  was  talking 


AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN.  217 

about.  In  fact,  utterly  unable  as  he  was  to 
comprehend  a  reason  for  the  woman's  excite 
ment  with  his  estimate  of  her  character,  I  fear 
he  showed  it  more  plainly  than  he  intended. 
He  stammered,  expanded  his  chest,  looked 
stern,  gallant,  tender,  but  all  unintelligently. 
Mi...  Tretherick,  for  an  instant,  experienced  a 
sickening  doubt  of  the  existence  of  natures  in 
perfect  affinity. 

"  It's  of  no  use,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick  with 
sudden  vehemence,  in  answer  to  some  inaudible 
remark  of  the  colonel's,  and  withdrawing  her 
hand  from  the  fervent  grasp  of  that  ardent  and 
sympathetic  man.  "  It's  of  no  use :  my  mind 
is  made  up.  You  can  send  for  my  trunk  as  soon 
as  you  like  ;  but  I  shall  stay  here,  and  confront 
that  man  with  the  proof  of  his  vileness.  I  will 
put  him  face  to  face  with  his  infamy." 

I  do  not  know  whether  Col.  Starbottle 
thoroughly  appreciated  the  convincing  proof 
of  Tretherick's  unfaithfulness  and  malignity 
afforded  by  the  damning  evidence  of  the  exist 
ence  of  Tretherick's  own  child  in  his  own 
house.  He  was  dimly  aware,  however,  of  some 
unforeseen  obstacle  to  the  perfect  expression 
of  the  infinite  longing  of  his  own  sentimental 
nature.  But,  before  he  could  say  any  thing, 
Carry  appeared  on  the  landing  above  them, 
looking  timidly,  and  yet  half-critically  at  the 
pair. 


218  AN   EPISODE   OF  FEDDLETOWN. 

"  That's  her,''  said  Mrs.  Tretherick  excitedly. 
In  her  deepest  emotions,  either  in  verse  or  prose, 
she  rose  above  a  consideration  of  grammatical 
construction. 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  colonel,  with  a  sudden 
assumption  of  parental  affection  and  jocularity 
that  was  glaringly  unreal  and  affected.  "  Ah ! 
pretty  little  girl,  pretty  little  girl !  How  do  you 
do  ?  How  are  you  ?  You  find  yourself  pretty 
well,  do  you,  pretty  little  girl  ?  "  The  colonel's 
impulse  also  was  to  expand  his  chest,  and  swing 
his  cane,  until  it  occurred  to  him  that  this  action 
might  be  ineffective  with  a  child  of  six  or  seven. 
Carry,  however,  took  no  immediate  notice  of  this 
advance,  but  further  discomposed  the  chivalrous 
colonel  by  running  quickly  to  Mrs.  Tretherick, 
and  hiding  herself,  as  if  for  protection,  in  the 
folds  of  her  gown.  Nevertheless,  the  colonel 
was  not  vanquished.  Falling  back  into  an  atti 
tude  of  respectful  admiration,  he  pointed  out  a 
marvellous  resemblance  to  the  "  Madonna  and 
Child."  Mrs.  Tretherick  simpered,  but  did  not 
dislodge  Carry  as  before.  There  was  an  awk 
ward  pause  for  a  moment ;  and  then  Mrs.  Treth 
erick,  motioning  significantly  to  the  child,  said 
in  a  whisper,  "  Go  now.  Don't  come  here 
again,  but  meet  me  to-night  at  the  hotel."  She 
extended  her  hand:  the  colonel  bent  over  it 
gallantly,  and,  raising  his  hat,  the  next  moment 
was  gone. 


AN    EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN.  219 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick  with 
an  embarrassed  voice  and  a  prodigious  blush, 
looking  down,  and  addressing  the  fiery  curls  just 
visible  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  —  "do  you 
think  you  will  be  'dood,'  if  I  let  you  stay  in 
here  and  sit  with  me  ?  " 

"And  let  me  tall  you  mamma?"  queried 
Carry,  looking  up. 

"  And  let  you  call  me  mamma ! "  assented 
Mrs.  Tretherick  with  an  embarrassed  laugh. 

"  Yeth,"  said  Carry  promptly. 

They  entered  the  bedroom  together.  Carry's 
eye  instantly  caught  sight  of  the  trunk. 

"  Are  you  dowin  away  adain,  mamma  ?  "  she 
said  with  a  quick  nervous  look,  and  a  clutch  at 
the  woman's  dress. 

"  No-o,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick,  looking  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Only  playing  your  dowin  away,"  suggested 
Carry  with  a  laugh.  "  Let  me  play  too." 

Mrs.  Tretherick  assented.  Carry  flew  into 
the  next  room,  and  presently  re-appeared,  drag 
ging  a  small  trunk,  into  which  she  gravely  pro 
ceeded  to  pack  her  clothes.  Mrs.  Tretherick 
noticed  that  they  were  not  many.  A  question 
or  two  regarding  them  brought  out  some  further 
replies  from  the  child ;  and,  before  many  minutes 
had  elapsed,  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  in  possession 
of  all  her  earlier  history.  But,  to  do  this,  Mrs. 


220  AN   EPISODE  OP  FIDDLETOWN. 

Tretherick  had  been  obliged  to  take  Carry 
upon  her  lap,  pending  the  most  confidential 
disclosures.  They  sat  thus  a  long  time  after 
Mrs.  Tretherick  had  apparently  ceased  to  be 
interested  in  Carry's  disclosures;  and,  when  lost 
in  thought,  she  allowed  the  child  to  rattle  on 
unheeded,  and  ran  her  fingers  through  the 
scarlet  curls. 

"  You  don't  hold  me  right,  mamma,"  said 
Carry  at  last,  after  one  or  two  uneasy  shiftinga 
of  position. 

"  How  should  I  hold  you  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Treth 
erick  with  a  half-amused,  half-embarrassed 
laugh. 

"  Dis  way,"  said  Carry,  curling  up  into  posi 
tion,  with  one  arm  around  Mrs.  Tretherick's 
neck,  and  her  cheek  resting  on  her  bosom,  — 
"  dis  way,  —  dere."  After  a  little  preparatory 
nestling,  not  unlike  some  small  animal,  she 
closed  her  eyes,  and  went  to  sleep. 

For  a  few  moments  the  woman  sat  silent, 
scarcely  daring  to  breathe  in  that  artificial  atti 
tude.  And  then,  whether  from  some  occult 
sympathy  in  the  touch,  or  God  best  knows 
what,  a  sudden  fancy  began  to  thrill  her.  She 
began  by  remembering  an  old  pain  that  she 
had  forgotten,  an  old  horror  that  she  had  resc- 
lutely  put  away  all  these  years.  She  recalled 
days  of  sickness  and  distrust,  —  days  of  an 


AN   EPISODE   OP    FIDDLETOWN.  221 

overshadowing  fear,  —  days  of  preparation  for 
something  that  was  to  be  prevented,  that  was 
prevented,  with  mortal  agony  and  fear.  She 
thought  of  a  life  that  might  have  been,  —  she 
dared  not  say  had  been,  —  and  wondered.  It 
was  six  years  ago :  if  it  had  lived,  it  would  have 
been  as  old  as  Carry.  The  arms  which  were 
folded  loosely  around  the  sleeping  child  began 
to  tremble,  and  tighten  their  clasp.  And  then 
the  deep  potential  impulse  came,  and  with  a 
half-sob,  half-sigh,  she  threw  her  arms  out,  and 
drew  the  body  of  the  sleeping  child  down, 
down,  into  her  breast,  down  again  and  again  as 
if  she  would  hide  it  in  the  grave  dug  there 
years  before.  And  the  gust  that  shook  her 
passed,  and  then,  ah  me  !  the  rain. 

A  drop  or  two  fell  upon  the  curls  of  Carry, 
and  she  moved  uneasily  in  her  sleep.  But  the 
woman  soothed  her  again,  —  it  was  so  easy  to  do 
it  now,  —  and  they  sat  there  quiet  and  undis 
turbed,  so  quiet  that  they  might  have  seemed 
incorporate  of  the  lonely  silent  house,  the 
slowly-declining  sunbeams,  and  the  general  air 
of  desertion  and  abandonment,  yet  a  desertion 
that  had  in  it  nothing  of  age,  decay,  or  despair. 

Col.  Starbottle  waited  at  the  Fiddletown 
Hotel  all  that  night  in  vain.  And  the  next  morn 
ing,  when  Mr.  Tretherick  returned  to  his  husks, 


222  AN   EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

he  found  the   house   vacant   and  untenaiited, 
except  by  motes  and  sunbeams. 

When  it  was  fairly  known  that  Mrs.  Trether- 
ick  had  run  away,  taking  Mr.  Tretheric.k's  own 
child  with  her,  there  was  some  excitement,  and 
much  diversity  of  opinion,  in  Fiddletown.  "  The 
Dutch  Flat  Intelligencer"  openly  alluded  to 
the  "  forcible  abduction  "  of  the  child  with  the 
same  freedom,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  the  same 
prejudice,  with  which  it  had  criticised  the 
abductor's  poetry.  All  of  Mrs.  Tretherick's 
own  sex,  and  j  erhaps  a  few  of  the  opposite  sex, 
whose  distinctive  quality  was  not,  however, 
very  strongly  indicated,  fully  coincided  in  the 
views  of  "  The  Intelligencer."  ,  The  majority, 
however,  evaded  the  moral  issue :  that  Mrs. 
Tretherick  had  shaken  the  red  du^t  of  Fiddle- 
town  from  her  dainty  slippers  was  enough  for 
them  to  know.  They  mourned  the  loss  of  the 
fair  abductor  more  than  her  offence.  They 
promptly  rejected  Tretherick  as  an  injured  hus 
band  and  disconsolate  father,  and  even  went 
so  far  as  to  openly  cast  discredit  on  the  sincerity 
of  his  grief.  They  reserved  an  ironical  con 
dolence  for  Col.  Starbottle,  overbearing  that 
excellent  man  with  untimely  and  demonstra 
tive  sympathy  in  bar-rooms,  saloons,  and  other 
localities  not  generally  deemed  favorable  to 
the  display  of  sentiment.  "  She  was  alliz  a 


AN   EPISODE   OF    FIDDLETOWN.  223 

skittish  thing,  kernel,"  said  one  sjonpathizer, 
with  a  fine  affectation  of  gloomy  concern,  and 
great  readiness  of  illustration ;  "  and  it's  kinder 
nat'ril  thet  she'd  get  away  some  day,  and  stam 
pede  that  theer  colt :  but  thet  she  should  shake 
you,  kernel,  thet  she  should  just  shake  you  —  is 
what  gits  me.  And  they  do  say  thet  you  jist 
hung  around  thet  hotel  all  night,  and  payrolled 
them  corriders,  and  histed  yourself  up  and  down 
them  stairs,  and  meandered  in  and  out  o'  thet 
piazzy,  and  all  for  nothing?"  It  was  another 
generous  and  tenderly  commiserating  spirit  that 
poured  additional  oil  and  wine  on  the  colonel's 
wounds.  "  The  boys  yer  let  on  thet  Mrs.  Treth- 
erick  prevaile^i  on  ye  to  pack  her  trunk  and  a 
baby  over  from  the  house  to  the  stage-offis,  and 
that  the  chap  ez  did  go  off  with  her  thanked 
you,  and  offered  you  two  short  bits,  and  sed  ez 
how  he  liked  your  looks,  and  ud  employ  you 
agin  —  and  now  you  say  it  ain't  so  ?  Well,  I'll 
tell  the  boys  it  aint  so,  and  I'm  glad  I  met  you, 
for  stories  do  get  round." 

Happily  for  Mrs.  Tretherick's  reputation, 
however,  the  Chinaman  in  Tretherick's  employ 
ment,  who  was  the  only  eye-witness  of  her 
flight,  stated  that  she  was  unaccompanied,  ex 
cept  by  the  child.  He  further  deposed,  that, 
obeying  her  orders,  he  had  stopped  the  Sacra 
mento  coach,  and  secured  a  passage  for  herself 


224  AN  EPISODE  OP   FIDDLETOWN. 

and  child  to  San  Francisco.  It  was  true  tha  t 
Ah  Fe's  testimony  was  of  no  legal  value.  But 
nobody  doubted  it.  Even  those  who  were  scep 
tical  of  the  Pagan's  ability  to  recognize  the 
sacredness  of  the  truth  admitted  his  passion 
less,  unprejudiced  unconcern.  But  it  would 
appear,  from  a  hitherto  unrecorded  passage  of 
this  veracious  chronicle,  that  herein  they  were 
mistaken. 

It  was  about  six  months  after  the  disappear 
ance  of  Mrs.  Tretherick,  that  Ah  Fe,  while 
working  in  Tretherick's  lot,  was  hailed  by  two 
passing  Chinamen.  They  were  the  ordinary 
mining  coolies,  equipped  with  long  poles  and 
baskets  for  their  usual  pilgrimages.  An  ani 
mated  conversation  at  once  ensued  between  Ah 
Fe  and  his  brother  Mongolians,  —  a  conversa 
tion  characterized  by  that  usual  shrill  volubility 
and  apparent  animosity  which  was  at  once  the 
delight  and  scorn  of  the  intelligent  Caucasian 
who  did  not  understand  a  word  of  it.  Such, 
at  least,  was  the  feeling  with  which  Mr.  Treth 
erick  on  his  veranda,  and  Col.  Starbottle  who 
was  passing,  regarded  their  heathenish  jargon. 
The  gallant  colonel  simply  kicked  them  out 
of  his  way :  the  irate  Tretherick,  with  an  oath, 
threw  a  stone  at  the  group,  and  dispersed  them, 
but  not  before  one  or  two  slips  of  yellow  rice- 
paper,  marked  with  hieroglyphics,  were  ex- 


AN    EPISODE    OP   FIDDLETOWN.  225 

changed,  and  a  small  parcel  put  into  Ah  Fe's 
hands.  When  Ah  Fe  opened  this  in  the  dim 
solitude  of  his  kitchen,  he  found  a  little  girl's 
apron,  freshly  washed,  ironed,  and  folded.  On 
the  corner  of  the  hem  were  the  initials  "  C.  T." 
Ah  Fe  tucked  it  away  in  a  corner  of  his  blouse, 
and  proceeded  to  wash  his  dishes  in  the  sink 
with  a  smile  of  guileless  satisfaction. 

Two  days  after  this,  Ah  Fe  confronted  his  mas 
ter.  "  Me  no  likee  Fiddletown.  Me  belly  sick. 
Me  go  now."  Mr.  Tretherick  violently  sug 
gested  a  profane  locality.  Ah  Fe  gazed  at  him 
placidly,  and  withdrew. 

Before  leaving  Fiddletown,  however,  he  acci 
dentally  met  Col.  Starbottle,  and  dropped  a  few 
incoherent  phrases  which  apparently  interested 
that  gentleman.  When  he  concluded,  the  colo 
nel  handed  him  a  letter  and  a  twenty-dollar 
gold-piece.  "  If  you  bring  me  an  answer,  I'll 
double  that  —  Sabe,  John?"  Ah  Fe  nodded. 
An  interview  equally  accidental,  with  precisely 
the  same  result,  took  place  between  Ah  Fe  and 
another  gentleman,  whom  I  suspect  to  have 
been  the  youthful  editor  of  "  The  Avalanche." 
Yet  I  regret  to  state,  that,  after  proceeding  some 
distance  on  his  journey,  Ah  Fe  calmly  broke 
the  seals  of  both  letters,  and,  after  trying  to 
read  them  upside  down  and  sideways,  finally 
divided  them  into  accurate  squares,  and  in  this 


226  AN    EPISODE   OF    FIDDLETOWN. 

condition  disposed  of  them  to  a  brother  Celes 
tial  whom  he  met  on  the  road,  for  a  trifling 
gratuity.  The  agony  of  Col.  Starbottle  on 
finding  his  wash-bill  made  out  on  the  unwritten 
side  of  one  of  these  squares,  and  delivered  to 
him  with  his  weekly  clean  clothes,  and  the  sub 
sequent  discovery  that  the  remaining  portions 
of  his  letter  were  circulated  by  the  same  method 
from  the  Chinese  laundry  of  one  Fung  Ti  of 
Fiddletown,  has  been  described  to  me  as  pecu 
liarly  affecting.  Yet  I  am  satisfied  that  a  higher 
nature,  rising  above  the  levity  induced  by  the 
mere  contemplation  of  the  insignificant  details 
of  this  breach  of  trust,  would  find  ample  retrib 
utive  justice  in  the  difficulties  that  subsequently 
attended  Ah  Fe's  pilgrimage. 

On  the  road  to  Sacramento  he  was  twice  play 
fully  thrown  from  the  top  of  the  stage-coach  by 
an  intelligent  but  deeply-intoxicated  Caucasian, 
whose  moral  nature  was  shocked  at  riding  with 
one  addicted  to  opium-smoking.  At  Hangtown 
he  was  beaten  by  a  passing  stranger,  —  purely 
an  act  of  Christian  supererogation.  At  Dutch 
Flat  he  was  robbed  by  well-known  hands  from 
unknown  motives.  At  Sacramento  he  was  ar 
rested  on  suspicion  of  being  something  or  other, 
and  discharged  with  a  severe  reprimand  —  pos 
sibly  for  not  being  it,  and  so  delaying  the  course 
of  justice.  At  San  Francisco  he  was  freely 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  227 

stoned  by  children  of  the  public  schools ;  but,  by 
carefully  avoiding  these  monuments  of  enlight 
ened  progress,  he  at  last  reached,  in  comparative 
safety,  the  Chinese  quarters,  where  his  abuse  was 
confined  to  the  police,  and  limited  by  the  strong 
arm  of  the  law. 

The  next  day  he  entered  the  wash-house  of 
Chy  Fook  as  an  assistant,  and  on  the  following 
Friday  was  sent  with  a  basket  of  clean  clothes 
to  Chy  Fook's  several  clients. 

It  was  the  usual  foggy  afternoon  as  he 
climbed  the  long  wind-swept  hill  of  California 
Street,  —  one  of  those  bleak,  gray  intervals  that 
made  the  summer  a  misnomer  to  any  but  the 
liveliest  San-Franciscan  fancy.  There  was  no 
warmth  or  color  in  earth  or  sky,  no  light  nor 
shade  within  or  without,  only  one  monotonous, 
universal  neutral  tint  over  every  thing.  There 
was  a  fierce  unrest  in  the  wind-whipped  streets : 
there  was  a  dreary  vacant  quiet  in  the  gray 
houses.  When  Ah  Fe  reached  the  top  of  the 
hill,  the  Mission  Ridge  was  already  hidden; 
and  the  chill  sea-breeze  made  him  shiver.  As  he 
put  down  his  basket  to  rest  himself,  it  is  possible, 
that,  to  his  defective  intelligence  and  heathen 
experience,  this  "  God's  own  climate,"  as  it  was 
called,  seemed  to  possess  but  scant  tenderness, 
softness,  or  mercy.  But  it  is  possible  that  Ah 
Fe  illogically  confounded  this  season  with  his 


228  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

old  persecutors,  the  school-children,  who,  being 
released  from  studious  confinement,  at  this  hour 
were  generally  most  aggressive.  So  he  hastened 
on,  and,  turning  a  corner,  at  last  stopped  before 
a  small  house. 

It  was  the  usual  San-Franciscan  urban  cofc- 
tage.  There  was  the  little  strip  of  cold  gieen 
shrubbery  before  it;  the  chilly,  bare  veranda, 
and  above  this,  again,  the  grim  balcony,  on  which 
no  one  sat.  Ah  Fe  rang  the  bell.  A  servant 
appeared,  glanced  at  his  basket,  and  reluctantly 
admitted  him,  as  if  he  were  some  necessary 
domestic  animal.  Ah  Fe  silently  mounted  the 
stairs,  and,  entering  the  open  door  of  the  front- 
chamber,  put  down  the  basket,  and  stood  pas 
sively  on  the  threshold. 

A  woman,  who  was  sitting  in  the  cold  gray 
light  of  the  window,  with  a  child  in  her  lap, 
rose  listlessly,  and  came  toward  him.  Ah  Fe 
instantly  recognized  Mrs.  Tretherick ;  but  not  a 
muscle  of  his  immobile  face  changed,  nor  did 
his  slant  eyes  lighten  as  he  met  her  own  pla 
cidly.  She  evidently  did  not  recognize  him  as 
she  began  to  count  the  clothes.  But  the  child, 
curiously  examining  him,  suddenly  uttered  a 
short,  glad  cry. 

"  Why,  it's  John,  mamma !  It's  our  old 
John  what  we  had  in  Fiddletown." 

For  an  instant  Ah  Fe's  eyes  and  teeth  electri- 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  229 

cally  lightened.  The  child  clapped  her  hands, 
and  caught  at  his  blouse.  Then  he  said  shortly, 
"Me  John  —  Ah  Fe  —  allee  same.  Me  know 
you.  How  do  ?  " 

Mrs.  Tretherick  dropped  the  clothes  ner 
vously,  and  looked  hard  at  Ah  Fe.  Wanting 
the  quick-witted  instinct  of  affection  that  sharp 
ened  Carry's  perception,  she  even  then  could 
not  distinguish  him  above  his  fellows.  With  a 
recollection  of  past  pain,  and  an  obscure  suspi 
cion  of  impending  danger,  she  asked  him  when 
he  had  left  Fiddletown. 

"  Longee  time.  No  likee  Fiddletown,  no  likee 
Tlevelick.  Likee  San  Flisco.  Likee  washee. 
Likee  Tally." 

Ah  Fe's  laconics  pleased  Mrs.  Tretherick. 
She  did  not  stop  to  consider  how  much  an 
imperfect  knowledge  of  English  added  to  his 
curt  directness  and  sincerity.  But  she  said, 
"Don't  tell  anybody  you  have  seen  me,"  and 
took  out  her  pocket-book. 

Ah  Fe,  without  looking  at  it,  saw  that  it  was 
nearly  empty.  Ah  Fe,  without  examining  the 
apartment,  saw  that  it  was  scantily  furnished. 
Ah  Fe,  without  removing  his  eyes  from  blank 
vacancy,  saw  that  both  Mrs.  Tretherick  and 
Carry  were  poorly  dressed.  Yet  it  is  my  duty 
to  state  that  Ah  Fe's  long  fingers  closed 
promptly  and  firmly  over  the  half-dollar  which 
Mrs.  Tretherick  extended  to  him. 


230  AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

Then  he  began  to  fumble  in  his  blouse  with  a 
series  of  extraordinary  contortions.  After  a  few 
moments,  he  extracted  from  apparently  no  par 
ticular  place  a  child's  apron,  which  he  laid  upon 
the  basket  with  the  remark,  — 

"  One  piecee  washman  flagittee." 

Then  he  began  anew  his  fumblings  and  con 
tortions.  At  last  his  efforts  were  rewarded  by 
his  producing,  apparently  from  his  right  ear,  a 
many-folded  piece  of  tissue-paper.  Unwrapping 
this  carefully,  he  at  last  disclosed  two  twenty- 
dollar  gold-pieces,  which  he  handed  to  Mrs. 
Tretherick. 

"  You  leavee  money  top-side  of  blulow,  Fid- 
dletown.  Me  findee  money.  Me  fetchee  money 
to  you.  All  lightee." 

"But  I  left  no  money  on  the  top  of  the 
bureau,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick  earnestly. 
"  There  must  be  some  mistake.  It  belongs  to 
some  other  person.  Take  it  back,  John." 

Ah  Fe's  brow  darkened.  He  drew  away 
from  Mrs.  Tretherick's  extended  hand,  and  be 
gan  hastily  to  gather  up  his  basket. 

"  Me  no  takee  it  back.  No,  no !  Bimeby 
pleesman  he  catchee  me.  He  say,  '  God  damn 
thief !  —  catchee  flowty  dollar :  come  to  jailee.' 
Me  no  takee  back.  You  leavee  money  top-side 
blulow,  Fiddletown.  Me  fetchee  money  you, 
Me  no  takee  back." 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  231 

Mrs.  Tretherick  hesitated.  In  the  confusion 
of  her  flight,  she  might  have  left  the  money  in 
the  manner  he  had  said.  In  any  event,  she  had 
no  right  to  jeopardize  this  honest  Chinaman's 
safety  by  refusing  it.  So  she  said,  "  Very  well 
John,  I  will  keep  it.  But  you  must  come  again 
and  see  me" — here  Mrs.  Tretherick  hesitated 
with  a  new  and  sudden  revelation  of  the  fact 
that  any  man  could  wish  to  see  any  other  than 
herself —  "  and,  and  —  Carry." 

Ah  Fe's  face  lightened.  He  even  uttered  a 
short  ventriloquistic  laugh  without  moving  his 
mouth.  Then  shouldering  his  basket,  he  shut 
the  door  carefully,  and  slid  quietly  down  stairs. 
In  the  lower  hall  he,  however,  found  an  unex 
pected  difficulty  in  opening  the  front-door,  and, 
after  fumbling  vainly  at  the  lock  for  a  moment, 
looked  around  for  some  help  or  instruction. 
But  the  Irish  handmaid  who  had  let  him  in  was 
contemptuously  oblivious  of  his  needs,  and  did 
not  appear. 

There  occurred  a  mysterious  and  painful  in- 
cident^  which  I  shall  simply  record  without 
attempting  to  explain.  On  the  hall-table  a 
scarf,  evidently  the  property  of  the  servant 
before  alluded  to,  was  lying.  As  Ah  Fe  tried 
the  lock  with  one  hand,  the  other  rested  lightly 
on  the  table.  Suddenly,  and  apparently  of  its 
own  volition,  the  scarf  began  to  creep  slowly 


232  AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

towards  Ah  Fe's  hand ;  from  Ah  Fe's  hand  it 
began  to  creep  up  his  sleeve  slowly,  and  with 
an  insinuating,  snake-like  motion;  and  then 
disappeared  somewhere  in  the  recesses  of  his 
blouse.  Without  betraying  the  least  interest 
or  concern  in  this  phenomenon,  Ah  Fe  still 
repeated  his  experiments  upon  the  lock.  A 
moment  later  the  tablecloth  of  red  damask, 
moved  by  apparently  the  same  mysterious  im 
pulse,  slowly  gathered  itself  under  Ah  Fe's 
fingers,  and  sinuously  disappeared  by  the  same 
hidden  channel.  What  further  mystery  might 
have  followed,  I  cannot  say ;  for  at  this  moment 
Ah  Fe  discovered  the  secret  of  the  lock,  and 
was  enabled  to  open  the  door  coincident  with  the 
sound  of  footsteps  upon  the  kitchen-stairs.  Ah 
Fe  did  not  hasten  his  movements,  but,  patiently 
shouldering  his  basket,  closed  the  door  careful 
ly  behind  him  again,  and  stepped  forth  into  the 
thick  encompassing  fog  that  now  shrouded 
earth  and  sky. 

From  her  high  casement-window,  Mrs. 
Fretherick  watched  Ah  Fe's  figure  until  it  dis- 
ippeared  in  the  gray  cloud.  In  her  present 
.oneliness,  she  felt  a  keen  sense  of  gratitude 
toward  him,  and  may  have  ascribed  to  the 
higher  emotions  and  the  consciousness  of  a 
good  deed,  that  certain  expansiveness  of  the 
chest,  and  swelling  of  the  bosom,  that  was  really 


AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  233 

due  to  the  hidden  presence  of  the  scarf  and 
tablecloth  under  his  blouse.  For  Mrs.  Trether- 
ick  was  still  poetically  sensitive.  As  the  gray 
fog  deepened  into  night,  she  drew  Carry  closer 
towards  her,  and,  above  the  prattle  of  the  child, 
pursued  a  vein  of  sentimental  and  egotistic 
recollection  at  once  bitter  and  dangerous.  The 
sudden  apparition  of  Ah  Fe  linked  her  again 
with  her  past  life  at  Fiddletown.  Over  the 
dreary  interval  between,  she  was  now  wander 
ing,  —  a  journey  so  piteous,  wilful,  thorny,  and 
useless,  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  at  last 
Carry  stopped  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  her 
voluble  confidences  to  throw  her  small  arms 
around  the  woman's  neck,  and  bid  her  not  to 
cry. 

Heaven  forefend  that  I  should  use  a  pen  that 
should  be  ever  dedicated  to  an  exposition  of 
unalterable  moral  principle  to  transcribe  Mrs. 
Tretherick's  own  theory  of  this  interval  and 
episode,  with  its  feeble  palliations,  its  illogical 
deductions,  its  fond  excuses,  and  weak  apologies. 
It  would  seem,  however,  that  her  experience 
had  been  hard.  Her  slender  stock  of  money 
was  soon  exhausted.  At  Sacramento  she  found 
that  the  composition  of  verse,  although  appeal 
ing  to  the  highest  emotions  of  the  human  heart, 
and  compelling  the  editoriaLbreast  to  the  noblest 
commendation  in  the  editorial  pages,  was  singu- 


234  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

larly  inadequate  to  defray  the  expenses  of  her 
self  and  Carry.  Then  she  tried  the  stage,  but 
failed  signally.  Possibly  her  conception  of  the 
passions  was  different  from  that  which  obtained 
with  a  Sacramento  audience  ;  but  it  was  certain 
that  her  charming  presence,  so  effective  at  short 
range,  was  not  sufficiently  pronounced  for  the 
footlights.  She  had  admirers  enough  in  the 
green-room,  but  awakened  no  abiding  affection 
among  the  audience.  In  this  strait,  it  occurred 
to  her  that  she  had  a  voice, —  a  contralto  of  no 
very  great  compass  or  cultivation,  but  singular 
ly  sweet  and  touching ;  and  she  finally  obtained 
position  in  a  church-choir.  She  held  it  for 
three  months,  greatly  to  her  pecuniary  advan 
tage,  and,  it  is  said,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  gentlemen  in  the  back-pews,  who  faced 
toward  her  during  the  singing  of  the  last 
hymn. 

I  remember  her  quite  distinctly  at  this  time. 
The  light  that  slanted  through  the  oriel  of  St. 
Dives  choir  was  wont  to  fall  very  tenderly  on 
her  beautiful  head  with  its  stacked  masses  of 
deerskin-colored  hair,  on  the  low  black  arches 
of  her  brows,  and  to  deepen  the  pretty  fringes 
that  shaded  her  eyes  of  Genoa  velvet.  Very 
pleasant  it  was  to  watch  the  opening  and  shut 
ting  of  that  small  straight  mouth,  with  its  quick 
revelation  of  little  white  teeth,  and  to  see  the 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  235 

foolish  blood  faintly  deepen  her  satin  cheek  as 
you  watched.  For  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  very 
sweetly  conscious  of  admiration,  and,  like  most 
pretty  women,  gathered  herself  under  your  eye 
like  a  racer  under  the  spur. 

And  then,  of  course,  there  came  trouble.  I 
have  it  from  the  soprano,  —  a  little  lady  who 
possessed  even  more  than  the  usual  unprejudiced 
judgment  of  her  sex,  —  that  Mrs.  Tretherick's 
conduct  was  simply  shameful ;  that  her  conceit 
was  unbearable ;  that,  if  she  considered  the  rest 
of  the  choir  as  slaves,  she  (the  soprano)  would 
like  to  know  it ;  that  her  conduct  on  Easter 
Sunday  with  the  basso  had  attracted  the  atten 
tion  of  the  whole  congregation  ;  and  that  she 
herself  had  noticed  Dr.  Cope  twice  look  up 
during  the  service;  that  her  (the  soprano's) 
friends  had  objected  to  her  singing  in  the  choir 
with  a  person  who  had  been  on  the  stage,  but 
she  had  waived  this.  Yet  she  had  it  from  the 
best  authority  that  Mrs.  Tretherick  had  run 
away  from  her  husband,  and  that  this  red-haired 
child  who  sometimes  came  in  the  choir  was 
not  her  own.  The  tenor  confided  to  me  behind 
the  organ,  that  Mrs.  Tretherick  had  a  way  of 
sustaining  a  note  at  the  end  of  a  line  in  order 
that  her  voice  might  linger  longer  with  the  con 
gregation,  —  an  act  that  could  be  attributed 
only  to  a  defective  moral  nature ;  that  as  a  man 


AN   EPISODE   OP    FIDDLETOWN. 

(he  was  a  very  popular  dry-goods  clerk  on 
week-days,  and  sang  a  good  deal  from  apparent 
ly  behind  his  eyebrows  on  the  sabbath)  —  that 
as  a  man,  sir,  he  would  put  up  with  it  no  longer. 
The  basso  alone  —  a  short  German  with  a  heavy 
voice,  for  which  he  seemed  reluctantly  responsi 
ble,  and  rather  grieved  at  its  possession  —  stood 
up  for  Mrs.  Tretherick,  and  averred  that  they 
were  jealous  of  her  because  she  was  "  bretty." 
The  climax  was  at  last  reached  in  an  open  quar 
rel,  wherein  Mrs.  Tretherick  used  her  tongue 
with  such  precision  of  statement  and  epithet, 
that  the  soprano  burst  into  hysterical  tears,  and 
had  to  be  supported  from  the  choir  by  her  hus 
band  and  the  tenor.  This  act  was  marked 
intentionally  to  the  congregation  by  the  omis 
sion  of  the  usual  soprano  solo.  Mrs.  Trether 
ick  went  home  flushed  with  triumph,  but  on 
reaching  her  room  frantically  told  Carry  that 
they  were  beggars  henceforward ;  that  she  —  her 
mother  —  had  just  taken  the  very  bread  out  of 
her  darling's  mouth,  and  ended  by  bursting  into 
a  flood  of  penitent  tears.  They  did  not  come 
so  quickly  as  in  her  old  poetical  days ;  but  when 
they  came  they  stung  deeply.  She  was  roused 
by  a  formal  visit  from  a  vestryman,  —  one  of  the 
music  committee.  Mrs.  Tretherick  dried  her 
long  lashes,  put  on  a  new  neck-ribbon,  and 
went  down  to  the  parlor.  She  staid  there  two 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  231 

hours,  —  a  fact  that  might  have  occasioned  some 
remark,  but  that  the  vestryman  was  married,  and 
had  a  family  of  grown-up  daughters.  When 
Mrs.  Tretherick  returned  to  her  room,  she  sang 
to  herself  in  the  glass  and  scolded  Carry  —  but 
she  retained  her  place  in  the  choir. 

It  was  not  long,  however.  In  due  course 
of  time,  her  enemies  received  a  powerful  addi 
tion  to  their  forces  in  the  committee-man's  wife. 
That  lady  called  upon  several  of  the  church- 
members  and  on  Dr.  Cope's  family.  The  result 
was,  that,  at  a  later  meeting  of  the  music  com 
mittee,  Mrs.  Tretherick's  voice  was  declared  in 
adequate  to  the  size  of  the  building  and  she  was 
invited  to  resign.  She  did  so.  She  had  been 
out  of  a  situation  for  two  months,  and  her  scant 
means  were  almost  exhausted,  when  Ah  Fe's 
unexpected  treasure  was  tossed  into  her  lap. 

The  gray  fog  deepened  into  night,  and  the 
street-lamps  started  into  shivering  life,  as,  ab 
sorbed  in  these  unprofitable  memories,  Mrs. 
Tretherick  still  sat  drearily  at  her  window. 
Even  Carry  had  slipped  away  unnoticed ;  and 
her  abrupt  entrance  with  the  damp  evening 
paper  in  her  hand  roused  Mrs.  Tretherick,  and 
brought  her  back  to  an  active  realization  of  the 
present.  For  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  wont  to  scan 
the  advertisements  in  the  faint  hope  of  finding 
some  avenue  of  employment  —  she  knew  not 


238  AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

what — open  to  her  needs;  and  Carry  had  noted 
this  habit. 

Mrs.  Tretherick  mechanically  closed  the  shut 
ters,  lit  the  lights,  and  opened  the  paper.  Her 
eye  fell  instinctively  on  the  following  paragraph 
in  the  telegraphic  column  :  — 

"  FIDDLETOWN,  7th.  — Mr.  James  Tretherick,  an  old  resident 
of  this  place,  died  last  night  of  delirium  tremens.  Mr.  Treth 
erick  was  addicted  to  intemperate  habits,  said  to  have  been 
induced  by  domestic  trouble." 

Mrs.  Tretherick  did  not  start.  She  quietly 
turned  over  another  page  of  the  paper,  and 
glanced  at  Carry.  The  child  was  absorbed  in  a 
book.  Mrs.  Tretherick  uttered  no  word,  but, 
during  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  was  un 
usually  silent  and  cold.  When  Carry  was  un 
dressed  and  in  bed,  Mrs.  Tretherick  suddenly 
dropped  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  and,  tak 
ing  Carry's  flaming  head  between  her  hands, 
said,  — 

"  Should  you  like  to  have  another  papa, 
Carry  darling  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Carry,  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"  But  a  papa  to  help  mamma  take  care  of 
you,  to  love  you,  to  give  you  nice  clothes,  to 
make  a  lady  of  you  when  you  grow  up  ?  " 

Carry  turned  her  sleepy  eyes  toward  the 
q  uestioiier.  u  Should  you,  mamma  ?  " 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  239 

Mrs.  Tretherick  suddenly  flushed  to  the  roots 
of  her  hair.  "  Go  to  sleep,"  she  said  sharply, 
and  turned  away. 

But  at  midnight  the  child  felt  two  white 
arms  close  tightly  around  her,  and  was  drawn 
down  into  a  bosom  that  heaved,  fluttered,  and 
at  last  was  broken  up  by  sobs. 

"  Don't  ky,  mamma,"  whispered  Carry,  with 
a  vague  retrospect  of  their  recent  conversation. 
"  Don't  ky.  I  fink  I  should  like  a  new  papa,  if 
he  loved  you  very  much  —  very,  very  much !  " 

A  month  afterward,  to  everybody's  astonish 
ment,  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  married.  The  happy 
bridegroom  was  one  Col.  Starbottle,  recently 
elected  to  represent  Calaveras  County  in  the 
legislative  councils  of  the  State.  As  I  cannot 
record  the  event  in  finer  language  than  that 
used  by  the  correspondent  of  "  The  Sacramento 
Globe,"  I  venture  to  quote  some  of  his  graceful 
periods.  "  The  relentless  shafts  of  the  sly  god 
have  been  lately  busy  among  our  gallant  Solons. 
We  quote  'one  more  unfortunate.'  The  latest 
victim  is  the  Hon.  C.  Starbottle  of  Calaveras. 
The  fair  enchantress  in  the  case  is  a  beautiful 
widow,  a  former  votary  of  Thespis,  and  lately 
a  fascinating  St.  Cecilia  of  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  churches  of  San  Francisco,  where 
she  commanded  a  high  salary." 

"The   Dutch   Flat    Intelligencer"    saw    fit, 


240  AN   EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

however,  to  comment  upon  the  fact  with  th&< 
humorous  freedom  characteristic  of  an  unfet 
tered  press.  "  The  new  Democratic  war-horse 
from  Calaveras  has  lately  advented  in  the  legis 
lature  with  a  little  bill  to  change  the  name  of 
Tretherick  to  Starbottle.  They  call  it  a  mar 
riage-certificate  down  there.  Mr.  Tretherick 
has  been  dead  just  one  month ;  but  we  presume 
the  gallant  colonel  is  not  afraid  of  ghosts."  It 
is  but  just  to  Mrs.  Tretherick  to  state  that  the 
colonel's  victory  was  by  no  means  an  easy  one. 
To  a  natural  degree  of  coyness  on  the  part  of 
the  lady  was  added  the  impediment  of  a  rival,  — 
a  prosperous  undertaker  from  Sacramento,  who 
had  first  seen  and  loved  Mrs.  Tretherick  at  the 
theatre  and  church ;  his  professional  habits 
debarring  him  from  ordinary  social  intercourse, 
and  indeed  any  other  than  the  most  formal 
public  contact  with  the  sex.  As  this  gentleman 
had  made  a  snug  fortune  during  the  felicitous 
prevalence  of  a  severe  epidemic,  the  colonel 
regarded  him  as  a  dangerous  rival.  Fortu 
nately,  however,  the  undertaker  was  called  in 
professionally  to  lay  out  a  brother-senator,  who 
had  unhappily  fallen  by  the  colonel's  pistol  in 
an  affair  of  honor ;  and  either  deterred  by 
physical  consideration  from  rivalry,  or  wisely 
concluding  that  the  colonel  was  professionally 
valuable,  he  withdrew  from  the  field. 


AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDIETOWN.  241 

The  honeymoon  was  brief,  and  brought  to  a 
close  by  an  untoward  incident.  During  their 
bridal-trip,  Carry  had  been  placed  in  the  charge 
of  Col.  Starbottle's  sister.  On  their  return  to 
the  city,  immediately  on  reaching  their  lodg 
ings,  Mrs.  Starbottle  announced  her  intention 
of  at  once  proceeding  to  Mrs.  Culpepper's  to 
bring  the  child  home.  Col.  Starbottle,  who 
had  been  exhibiting  for  some  time  a  certain 
uneasiness  which  he  had  endeavored  to  over 
come  by  repeated  stimulation,  finally  buttoned 
his  coat  tightly  across  his  breast,  and,  after 
walking  unsteadily  once  or  twice  up  and  down 
the  room,  suddenly  faced  his  wife  with  his  most 
imposing  manner. 

"  I  have  deferred,"  said  the  colonel  with  an 
exaggeration  of  port  that  increased  with  his 
inward  fear,  and  a  growing  thickness  of  speech. 
—  "I  have  deferr  —  I  may  say  poshponed  state 
ment  o'  fack  thash  my  duty  ter  dishclose  ter 
ye.  I  did  no  wish  to  mar  sushine  mushal 
happ'ness,  to  bligh  bud  o'  promise,  to  darken 
conjuglar  sky  by  unpleasht  revelashun.  Musht 
be  done  —  by  G — d,  m'm,  musht  do  it  now. 
The  chile  is  gone  !  " 

"  Gone  !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Starbottle. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
in  the  sudden  drawing-together  of  the  pupils 
of  her  eyes,  that  for  a  moment  nearly  sobered 
the  colonel,  and  partly  collapsed  his  chest. 


242  AN   EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

"I'll  splain  all  in  a  minit,"  he  said  with  a 
deprecating  wave  of  the  hand.  "  Every  thing 
shall  be  splained.  The-the-the-melencholly  event 
wish  preshipitate  our  happ'ness  —  the  myster'us 
piov'nice  wish  releash  you  —  releash  chile  !  hun- 
erstan  ?  —  releash  chile.  The  mom't  Tretherick 
die  —  all  claim  you  have  in  chile  through  him 
—  die  too.  Thash  law.  Whose  chile  b'long 
to?  Tretherick?  Tretherick  dead.  Chile 
can't  b'long  dead  man.  Damn  nonshense  b'long 
dead  man.  I'sh  your  chile  ?  no  !  who's  chile 
then  ?  Chile  b'long  to  'ts  mother.  Unnerstan  ?  " 

"  Where  is  she  ? "  said  Mrs.  Starbottle  with 
a  very  white  face  and  a  very  low  voice. 

"  I'll  splain  all.  Chile  b'long  to  'ts  mother. 
Thash  law.  I'm  lawyer,  leshlator,  and  Ameri 
can  sis'n.  Ish  my  duty  as  lawyer,  as  leshlator, 
and  'merikan  sis'n  to  reshtore  chile  to  sinTrin 
mother  at  any  coss  —  any  coss." 

"Where  is  she?"  repeated  Mrs.  Starbottle 
with  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  colonel's  face. 

"  Gone  to  'ts  m'o'r.  Gone  East  on  shteamer, 
yesserday.  Waffed  by  fav'rin  gales  to  suffrin 
p'rent.  Thash  so  !  " 

Mrs.  Starbottle  did  not  move.  The  colonel 
felt  his  chest  slowly  collapsing,  but  steadied 
himself  against  a  chair,  and  endeavored  to  beam 
with-  chivalrous  gallantry  not  unmixed  with 
magisterial  firmness  upon  her  as  she  sat. 


AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN.  243 

"  Your  feelin's,  m'm,  do  honor  to  yer  sex,  but 
conshider  situashun.  Conshider  m'or's  feelings 
—  conshider  my  feelin's."  The  colonel  paused, 
and,  flourishing  a  white  handkerchief,  placed  it 
negligently  in  his  breast,  and  then  smiled  ten 
derly  above  it,  as  over  laces  and  ruffles,  on  the 
woman  before  him.  "  Why  should  dark  shed- 
der  cass  bligh  on  two  sholes  with  single  beat  ? 
Chile's  fine  chile,  good  chile,  but  summonelse 
chile  !  Chile's  gone,  Clar' ;  but  all  ish'n't  gone, 
Clar'.  Conshider  dearesht,  you  all's  have  me  !  " 

Mrs.  Starbottle  started  to  her  feet.  "  You  !  " 
she  cried,  bringing  out  a  chest  note  that  made 
the  chandeliers  ring,  —  "  YOU  that  I  married  to 
give  my  darling  food  and  clothes, — you!  a  dog 
that  I  whistled  to  my  side  to  keep  the  men  off 
me, — you!" 

She  choked  up,  and  then  dashed  past  him 
into  the  inner  room,  which  had  been  Carry's; 
then  she  swept  by  him  again  into  her  own  bed 
room,  and  then  suddenly  re-appeared  before  him, 
erect,  menacing,  with  a  burning  fire  over  her 
cheek-bones,  a  quick  straightening  of  her 
aiched  brows  and  mouth,  a  squaring  of  jaw,  and 
ophidian  flattening  of  the  head. 

"  Listen ! "  she  said  in  a  hoarse,  half-grown 
boy's  voice.  "  Hear  me  !  If  you  ever  expect 
to  set  eyes  on  me  again,  you  must  find  the  child. 
If  you  ever  expect  to  speak  to  me  again,  to 


244  AN   EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

touch  me,  you  must  bring  her  back.  For 
where  she  goes,  I  go :  you  hear  me !  Where 
she  has  gone,  look  for  me. " 

She  struck  out  past  him  again  with  a  quick 
feminine  throwing-out  of  her  arms  from  the 
elbows  down,  as  if  freeing  herself  from  some 
imaginary  bonds,  and,  dashing  into  her  chamber, 
slammed  and  locked  the  door.  Col.  Star- 
bottle,  although  no  coward,  stood  in  superstitious 
fear  of  an  angry  woman,  ancl,  recoiling  as  she 
swept  by,  lost  his  unsteady  foothold,  and  rolled 
helplessly  on  the  sofa.  Here,  after  one  or  two 
unsuccessful  attempts  to  regain  his  foothold,  he 
remained,  uttering  from  time  to  time  profane 
but  not  entirely  coherent  or  intelligible  protests, 
until  at  last  he  succumbed  to  the  exhausting 
quality  of  his  emotions,  and  the  narcotic  quan 
tity  of  his  potations. 

Meantime,  within,  Mrs.  Starbottle  was  excit 
edly  gathering  her  valuables,  and  packing  her 
trunk,  even  as  she  had  done  once  before  in  the 
course  of  this  remarkable  history.  Perhaps 
some  recollection  of  this  was  in  her  mind ;  for 
she  stopped  to  lean  her  burning  cheeks  upon 
her  hand,  as  if  she  saw  again  the  figure  of  the 
child  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  heard  once 
more  a  childish  voice  asking,  "  Is  it  mamma  ?  " 
But  the  epithet  now  stung  her  to  the  quick; 
and  with  a  quick,  passionate  gesture  she  dashed 


AN   EPISODE   OP  F1DDLETOWN.  245 

it  away  with  a  tear  that  had  gathered  in  her 
eye.  And  then  it  chanced,  that,  in  turning 
over  some  clothes,  she  came  upon  the  child's 
slipper  with  a  broken  sandal-string.  She  uttered 
a  great  cry  here,  —  the  first  she  had  uttered,  — 
a] id  caught  it  to  her  breast,  kissing  it  pas 
sionately  again  and  again,  and  rocking  from 
side  to  side  with  a  motion  peculiar  to  her  sex. 
And  then  she  took  it  to  the  window,  the  better 
to  see  it  through  her  now  streaming  eyes.  Here 
she  was  taken  with  a  sudden  fit  of  coughing 
that  she  could  not  stifle  with  the  handkerchief 
she  put  to  her  feverish  lips.  And  then  she 
suddenly  grew  very  faint.  The  window  seemed 
to  recede  before  her,  the  floor  to  sink  beneath 
her  feet;  and,  staggering  to  the  bed,  she  fell 
prone  upon  it  with  the  sandal  and  handkerchief 
pressed  to  her  breast.  Her  face  was  quite  pale, 
the  orbit  of  her  eyes  dark ;  and  there  was  a  spot 
upon  her  lip,  another  on  her  handkerchief, 
and  still  another  on  the  white  counterpane  of 
the  bed. 

The  wind  had  risen,  rattling  the  window- 
sashes,  and  swaying  the  white  curtains  in  a 
ghostly  way.  Later,  a  gray  fog  stole  softly 
over  the  roofs,  soothing  the  wind-roughened 
surfaces,  and  inwrapping  all  things  in  an  un 
certain  light  and  a  measureless  peace.  She  lay 
there  very  quiet  —  for  all  her  troubles,  still  a 


246  AN   EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

very  pretty  bride.  And  on  the  other  side  of 
the  bolted  door  the  gallant  bridegroom,  from 
his  temporary  couch,  snored  peacefully. 

A  week  before  Christmas  Day,  1870,  the 
little  town  of  Genoa,  in  the  State  of  New  York, 
exhibited,  perhaps  more  strongly  than  at  any 
other  tune,  the  bitter  irony  of  its  founders  and 
sponsors.  A  driving  snow-storm,  that  had  whit 
ened  every  windward  hedge,  bush,  wall,  and 
telegraph-pole,  played  around  this  soft  Italian 
Capitol,  whirled  in  and  out  of  the  great  staring 
wooden  Doric  columns  of  its  post-office  and 
hotel,  beat  upon  the  cold  green  shutters  of  its 
best  houses,  and  powdered  the  angular,  stiff, 
dark  figures  in  its  streets.  From  the  level  of 
the  street,  the  four  principal  churches  of  the 
town  stood  out  starkly,  even  while  their  mis 
shapen  spires  were  kindly  hidden  in  the  low, 
driving  storm.  Near  the  railroad-station,  the 
new  Methodist  chapel,  whose  resemblance  to  an 
enormous  locomotive  was  further  heightened  by 
the  addition  of  a  pyramidal  row  of  front-steps, 
like  a  cowcatcher,  stood  as  if  waiting  for  a  few 
more  houses  to  be  hitched  on  to  proceed  to  a 
pleasanter  location.  But  the  pride  of  Genoa  — 
the  great  Crammer  Institute  for  Young  Ladies 
—  stretched  its  bare  brick  length,  and  reared  its 
cupola  plainly  from  the  bleak  Parnassian  liill 


AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN.  247 

above  the  principal  avenue.  There  was  no  eva 
sion  in  the  Crammer  Institute  of  the  fact  that 
it  was  a  public  institution.  A  visitor  upon  its 
doorsteps,  a  pretty  face  at  its  window,  were 
clearly  visible  all  over  the  township. 

The  shriek  of  the  engine  of  the  four-o'clock 
Northern  express  brought  but  few  of  the  usual 
loungers  to  the  depot.  Only  a  single  passenger 
alighted,  and  was  driven  away  in  the  solitary 
waiting  sleigh  toward  the  Genoa  Hotel.  And 
then  the  train  sped  away  again,  with  that  pas 
sionless  indifference  to  human  sympathies  or 
curiosity  peculiar  to  express-trains;  the  one 
baggage-truck  was  wheeled  into  the  station 
again ;  the  station-door  was  locked ;  and  the  sta 
tion-master  went  home. 

The  locomotive-whistle,  however,  awakened 
the  guilty  consciousness  of  three  young  ladies 
of  the  Crammer  Institute,  who  were  even 
then  surreptitiously  regaling  themselves  in  the 
bake-shop  and  confectionery-saloon  of  Mistress 
Phillips  in  a  by-lane.  For  even  the  admirable 
regulations  of  the  Institute  failed  to  entirely 
develop  the  physical  and  moral  natures  of  its 
pupils.  They  conformed  to  the  excellent  dietary 
rules  in  public,  and  in  private  drew  upon  the 
luxurious  rations  of  their  village  caterer.  They 
attended  church  with  exemplary  formality,  and 
flirted  informally  during  service  with  the  village 


248  AN   EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

beaux.  They  received  the  best  and  most 
judicious  instruction  during  school-hours,  and 
devoured  the  trashiest  novels  during  recess. 
Tli  3  result  of  which  was  an  aggregation  of  quite 
healthy,  quite  human,  and  very  charming  young 
creatures,  that  reflected  infinite  credit  on  the 
Institute.  Even  Mistress  Phillips,  to  whom 
they  owed  vast  sums,  exhilarated  by  the  exu 
berant  spirits  and  youthful  freshness  of  her 
guests,  declared  that  the  sight  of  "  them  young 
things  "  did  her  good  ;  and  had  even  been  known 
to  shield  them  by  shameless  equivocation. 

"  Four  o'clock,  girls !  and,  if  we're  not  back  to 
prayers  by  five,  we'll  be  missed,"  said  the  tallest 
of  these  foolish  virgins,  with  an  aquiline  nose, 
and  certain  quiet  6lan  that  bespoke  the  leader, 
as  she  rose  from  her  seat.  "  Have  you  got 
the  books,  Addy  ? "  Addy  displayed  three 
dissipated-looking  novels  under  her  waterproof. 
"And  the  provisions,  Carry ?"  Carry  showed 
a  suspicious  parcel  filling  the  pocket  of  her 
sack.  "  All  right,  then.  Come  girls,  trudge.  — 
Charge  it,"  she  added,  nodding  to  her  host  as 
they  passed  toward  the  door.  "I'll  pay  you 
when  my  quarter's  allowance  comes." 

"  No,  Kate,"  interposed  Carry,  producing  her 
purse,  "  let  me  pay :  it's  my  turn." 

"  Never !  "  said  Kate,  arching  her  black  brows 
loftily,  "  even  if  you  do  have  rich  relatives,  and 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  249 

regular  remittances  from  California.  Never !  — 
Come,  girls,  forward,  march ! " 

As  they  opened  the  door,  a  gust  of  wind 
nearly  took  them  off  their  feet.  Kind-hearted 
Mrs.  Phillips  was  alarmed.  "  Sakes  alive,  galls ! 
ye  mussn't  go  out  in  sich  weather.  Better  let 
me  send  word  to.  the  Institoot,  and  make  ye  up 
a  nice  bed  to-night  in  my  parlor."  But  the  last 
sentence  was  lost  in  a  chorus  of  half-suppressed 
shrieks,  as  the  girls,  hand  in  hand,  ran  down  the 
steps  into  the  storm,  and  were  at  once  whirled 
away. 

The  short  December  day,  unlit  by  any  sunset 
glow,  was  failing  fast.  It  was  quite  dark 
already;  and  the  air  was  thick  with  driving 
snow.  For  some  distance  their  high  spirits, 
youth,  and  even  inexperience,  kept  them  bravely 
up ;  but,  in  ambitiously  attempting  a  short-cut 
from  the  high-road  across  an  open  field,  their 
strength  gave  out,  the  laugh  grew  less  frequent, 
and  tears  began  to  stand  in  Carry's  brown  eyes. 
When  they  reached  the  road  again,  they  were 
utterly  exhausted.  "Let  us  go  back,"  said 
Carry. 

"  We'd  never  get  across  that  field  again,"  said 
Addy. 

"Let's  stop  at  the  first  house,  then,"  said 
Carry. 

"  The  first  house,"  said  Addy,  peering  through 


250  AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

the  gathering  darkness,  "  is  Squire  Robinson's.'' 
She  darted  a  mischievous  glance  at  Carry,  that, 
even  in  her  discomfort  and  fear,  brought  the 
quick  blood  to  her  cheek. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  said  Kate  with  gloomy  irony, "  cer 
tainly  ;  stop  at  the  squire's  by  all  means,  and  be 
invited  to  tea,  and  be  driven  home  after  tea  by 
your  dear  friend  Mr.  Harry,  with  a  formal  apol 
ogy  from  Mrs.  Robinson,  and  hopes  that  the 
young  ladies  may  be  excused  this  time.  No  !  " 
continued  Kate  with  sudden  energy.  "That 
may  suit  you  ;  but  I'm  going  back  as  I  came,  — 
by  the  window,  or  not  at  all."  Then  she 
pounced  suddenly,  like  a  hawk,  on  Carry,  who 
was  betraying  a  tendency  to  sit  down  on  a 
snowbank,  and  whimper,  and  shook  her  briskly. 
"  You'll  be  going  to  sleep  next.  Stay,  hold  your 
tongues,  all  of  you,  —  what's  that?  " 

It  was  the  sound  of  sleigh-bells.  Coming 
down  toward  them  out  of  the  darkness  was  a 
sleigh  with  a  single  occupant.  "  Hold  down 
your  heads,  girls :  if  it's  anybody  that  knows 
us,  we're  lost."  But  it  was  not;  for  a  voice 
strange  to  their  ears,  but  withal  very  kindly 
and  pleasant,  asked  if  its  owner  could  be  of  any 
help  to  them.  As  they  turned  toward  him, 
they  saw  it  was  a  man  wrapped  in  a  handsome 
sealskin  cloak,  wearing  a  sealskin  cap  ;  his  face, 
half  concealed  by  a  muffler  of  the  same  material, 


AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN.  251 

disclosing  only  a  pair  of  long  mustaches,  and 
two  keen  dark  eyes.  "  It's  a  son  of  old  Santa 
Glaus ! "  whispered  Addy.  The  girls  tittered 
audibly  as  they  tumbled  into  the  sleigh :  they 
had  regained  their  former  spirits.  "Where 
shall  I  take  you?"  said  the  stranger  quietly. 
There  was  a  hurried  whispering ;  and  then  Kate 
said  boldly,  "To  the  Institute."  They  drove 
silently  up  the  hill,  until  the  long,  ascetic 
building  loomed  up  before  them.  The  stranger 
reined  up  suddenly.  "  You  know  the  way  bet 
ter  than  I,"  he  said.  "  Where  do  you  go  in  ?  " 
—  "  Through  the  back-window,"  said  Kate  with 
sudden  and  appalling  frankness.  "  I  see ! " 
responded  their  strange  driver  quietly,  and, 
alighting  quickly,  removed  the  bells  from  the 
horses.  "  We  can  drive  as  near  as  you  please 
now,"  he  added  by  way  of  explanation.  "  He 
certainly  is  a  son  of  Santa  Glaus,"  whispered 
Addy.  "  Hadn't  we  better  ask  after  his  father  ?  " 
"  Hush ! "  said  Kate  decidedly.  "  He  is  an 
angel,  I  dare  say."  She  added  with  a  delicious 
irrelevance,  which  was,  however,  perfectly 
understood  by  her  feminine  auditors,  "  We  are 
looking  like  three  frights." 

Cautiously  skirting  the  fences,  they  at  last 
pulled  up  a  few  feet  from  a  dark  wall.  The 
stranger  proceeded  to  assist  them  to  alight. 
There  was  still  some  light  from  the  reflected 


252  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

snow ;  and,  as  he  handed  his  fair  companions  to 
the  ground,  each  was  conscious  of  undergoing 
an  intense  though  respectful  scrutiny.  He 
assisted  them  gravely  to  open  the  window,  and 
then  discreetly  retired  to  the  sleigh  until  the 
difficult  and  somewhat  discomposing  ingress 
was  made.  He  then  walked  to  the  window 
"  Thank  you  and  good-night !  "  whispered  three 
voices.  A  single  figure  still  lingered.  The 
stranger  leaned  over  the  window-sill.  "  Will 
you  permit  me  to  light  my  cigar  here  ?  it  might 
attract  attention  if  I  struck  a  match  outside." 
By  the  upspringing  light  he  saw  the  figure  of 
Kate  very  charmingly  framed  in  by  the  window. 
The  match  burnt  slowly  out  in  his  fingers.  Kate 
smiled  mischievously.  The  astute  young  wo 
man  had  detected  the  pitiable  subterfuge.  For 
what  else  did  she  stand  at  the  head  of  her  class, 
and  had  doting  parents  paid  three  years'  tuition  ? 
The  storm  had  passed,  and  the  sun  was  shin 
ing  quite  cheerily  in  the  eastern  recitation-room 
the  next  morning,  when  Miss  Kate,  whose  seat 
was  nearest  the  window,  placing  her  hand  pa 
thetically  upon  her  heart,  affected  to  fall  in 
bashful  and  extreme  agitation  upon  the  shoulder 
of  Carry  her  neighbor.  "  He  has  come,"  she 
gasped  in  a  thrilling  whisper.  "  Who  ?  "  asked 
Carry  sympathetically,  who  never  clearly  under 
stood  when  Kate  was  in  earnest.  "  Who  ?  — 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  253 

why,  the  man  who  rescued  us  last  night !  I  saw 
him  drive  to  the  door  this  moment.  Don't 
speak :  I  shall  be  better  in  a  moment  - —  there  ! " 
she  said ;  and  the  shameless  hypocrite  passed 
her  hand  pathetically  across  her  forehead  with 
a  tragic  air. 

"  What  can  he  want  ?  "  asked  Carry,  whose 
curiosity  was  excited. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Kate,  suddenly  relaps 
ing  into  gloomy  cynicism.  "  Possibly  to  put  his 
five  daughters  to  school ;  perhaps  to  finish  his 
young  wife,  and  warn  her  against  us." 

"  He  didn't  look  old,  and  he  didn't  seem  like 
a  married  man,"  rejoined  Addy  thoughtfully. 

"  That  was  his  art,  you  poor  creature  !  "  re 
turned  Kate  scornfully.  "  You  can  never  tell 
any  thing  of  these  men,  they  are  so  deceitful. 
Besides,  it's  just  my  fate  !  " 

"  Why,  Kate,"  began  Carry,  in  serious  con 
cern. 

"  Hush !  Miss  Walker  is  saying  something," 
said  Kate,  laughing.  . 

"  The  young  ladies  will  please  give  attention," 
said  a  slow,  perfunctory  voice.  "  Miss  Carry 
Tretherick  is  wanted  in  the  parlor." 

Meantime  Mr.  Jack  Prince,  the  name  given 
on  the  card,  and  various  letters  and  credentials 
submitted  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Crammer,  paced  the 
somewhat  severe  apartment  known  publicly  as 


254  AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

the  "reception  parlor,"  and  privately  to  the 
pupils  as  "  purgatory."  His  keen  eyes  had 
taken  in  the  various  rigid  details,  from  the  flat 
steam  "  radiator,"  like  an  enormous  japanned 
soda-cracker,  that  heated  one  end  of  the  room, 
to  the  monumental  bust  of  Dr.  Crammer,  that 
hopelessly  chilled  the  other ;  from  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  executed  by  a  former  writing-master  in 
such  gratuitous  variety  of  elegant  calligraphic 
trifling  as  to  considerably  abate  the  serious  value 
of  the  composition,  to  three  views  of  Genoa 
from  the  Institute,  which  nobody  ever  recognized, 
taken  on  the  spot  by  the  drawing-teacher ;  from 
two  illuminated  texts  of  Scripture  in  an  English 
letter,  so  gratuitously  and  hideously  remote  as 
to  chill  all  human  interest,  to  a  large  photo 
graph  of  the  senior  class,  in  which  the  prettiest 
girls  were  Ethiopian  in  complexion,  and  sat, 
apparently,  on  each  other's  heads  and  shoulders. 
His  fingers  had  turned  listlessly  the  leaves  of 
school-catalogues,  the  "  Sermons  "  of  Dr.  Cram 
mer,  the  "  Poems  "  of  Henry  Kirke  White,  the 
"  Lays  of  the  Sanctuary  "  and  "  Lives  of  Cele 
brated  Women."  His  fancy,  and  it  was  a  ner 
vously  active  one,  had  gone  over  the  partings  and 
greetings  that  must  have  taken  place  here,  and 
wondered  why  the  apartment  had  yet  caught  so 
little  of  the  flavor  of  humanity ;  indeed,  I  am 
afraid  he  had  almost  forgotten  the  object  of  his 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  255 

visit,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Carry  Treth- 
erick  stood  before  him. 

It  was  one  of  those  faces  he  had  seen  the  night 
before,  prettier  even  than  it  had  seemed  then ; 
and  yet  I  think  he  was  conscious  of  some  disap 
pointment,  without  knowing  exactly  why.  Her 
abundant  waving  hair  was  of  a  guinea-golden 
tint,  her  complexion  of  a  peculiar  flower-like 
delicacy,  her  brown  eyes  of  the  color  of  seaweed 
in  deep  water.  It  certainly  was  not  her  beauty 
that  disappointed  him. 

Without  possessing  his  sensitiveness  to  im 
pression,  Carry  was,  on  her  part,  quite  as  vaguely 
ill  at  ease.  She  saw  before  her  one  of  those 
men  whom  the  sex  would  vaguely  generalize  as 
"  nice,"  that  is  to  say,  correct  in  all  the  super 
ficial  appointments  of  style,  dress,  manners  and 
feature.  Yet  there  was  a  decidedly  unconven 
tional  quality  about  him :  he  was  totally  unlike 
any  thing  or  anybody  that  she  could  remember ; 
and,  as  the  attributes  of  originality  are  often  as 
apt  to  alarm  as  to  attract  people,  she  was  not 
entirely  prepossessed  in  his  favor. 

"I  can  hardly  hope,"  he  began  pleasantly, 
"that  you  remember  me.  It  is  eleven  years 
ago,  and  you  were  a  very  little  girl.  I  am 
afraid  I  cannot  even  claim  to  have  enjoyed  that 
familiarity  that  might  exist  beween  a  child  of 
six  and  a  young  man  of  twenty-one.  I  don't 


256  AN   EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

think  I  was  fond  of  children.  But  I  knew  your 
mother  very  well.  I  was  editor  of  '  The  Ava 
lanche  '  in  Fiddletown,  when  she  took  you  to 
San  Francisco." 

"  You  mean  my  stepmother :  she  wasn't  my 
mother,  you  know,"  interposed  Carry  hastily. 

Mr.  Prince  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  I  mean 
your  stepmother,"  he  said  gravely.  "I  never 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your  mother." 

"  No :  mother  hasn't  been  in  California  these 
twelve  years." 

There  was  an  intentional  emphasizing  of  the 
title  and  of  its  distinction,  that  began  to  coldly 
interest  Prince  after  his  first  astonishment  was 
past. 

"  As  I  come  from  your  stepmother  now,"  he 
went  on  with  a  slight  laugh,  "  I  must  ask  you 
to  go  back  for  a  few  moments  to  that  point. 
After  your  father's  death,  your  mother  —  I 
mean  your  stepmother  —  recognized  the  fact 
that  your  mother,  the  first  Mrs.  Tretherick, 
was  legally  and  morally  your  guardian,  and, 
although  much  against  her  inclination  and 
affections,  placed  you  again  in  her  charge." 

"  My  stepmother  married  again  within  a  month 
after  father  died,  and  sent  me  home,"  said  Carry 
with  great  directness,  and  the  faintest  toss  of 
her  head. 

Mr.  Prince  smiled  so  sweetly,  and  apparently 


AST   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  257 

so  sympathetically,  that  Carry  began  to  like 
him.  With  no  other  notice  of  the  interruption 
he  went  on,  "  After  your  stepmother  had  per 
formed  this  act  of  simple  justice,  she  entered 
into  an  agreement  with  your  mother  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  your  education  until  your 
eighteenth  year,  when  you  were  to  elect  and 
choose  which  of  the  two  should  thereafter  be 
your  guardian,  and  with  whom  you  would  make 
your  home.  This  agreement,  I  think,  you.  are 
already  aware  of,  and,  I  believe,  knew  at  the 
time." 

"  I  was  a  mere  child  then,"  said  Carry. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Prince,  with  the  same 
smile.  "  Still  the  conditions,  I  think,  have  never 
been  oppressive  to  you  nor  your  mother;  and 
the  only  time  they  are  likely  to  give  you  the 
least  uneasiness  will  be  when  you  come  to 
make  up  your  mind  in  the  choice  of  your 
guardian.  That  will  be  on  your  eighteenth 
birthday,  —  the  20th,  I  think,  of  the  present 
month." 

Carry  was  silent. 

"  Pray  do  not  think  that  I  am  here  to  receive 
your  decision,  even  if  it  be  already  made.  I 
only  came  to  inform  you  that  your  stepmother, 
Mrs.  Starbottle,  will  be  in  town  to-morrow,  and 
will  pass  a  few  days  at  the  hotel.  If  it  is  your 
wish  to  see  her  before  you  make  up  your  mind, 


258  AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

she  will  be  glad  to  meet  you.  She  does  not, 
however,  wish  to  do  any  thing  to  influence  your 
judgment." 

"Does  mother  know  she  is  coming?"  said 
Carry  hastily. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Prince  gravely.  "  I 
only  know,  that,  if  you  conclude  to  see  Mrs. 
Starbottle,  it  will  be  with  your  mother's  per 
mission.  Mrs.  Starbottle  will  keep  sacredly  this 
part  of  the  agreement,  made  ten  years  ago. 
But  her  health  is  very  poor;  and  the  change 
and  country  quiet  of  a  few  days  may  benefit 
her."  Mr.  Prince  bent  his  keen,  bright  eyes 
upon  the  young  girl,  and  almost  held  his  breath 
until  she  spoke  again. 

"  Mother's  coming  up  to-day  or  to-morrow," 
she  said,  looking  up. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Mr.  Prince  with  a  sweet  and 
languid  smile. 

"  Is  Col.  Starbottle  here  too  ?  "  asked  Carry, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Col.  Starbottle  is  dead.  Your  stepmother 
is  again  a  widow." 

"  Dead !  "  repeated  Carry. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Prince.  "Your  step 
mother  has  been  singularly  unfortunate  in  sur 
viving  her  affections." 

Carry  did  not  know  what  he  meant,  and 
looked  so.  Mr.  Prince  smiled  re-assuringly. 


AN  EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  259 

Presently  Carry  began  to  whimper. 

Mr.  Prince  softly  stepped  beside  her  chair. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said  with  a  very  peculiar 
light  in  his  eye,  and  a  singular  dropping  of  the 
corners  of  his  mustache,  —  "I  am  afraid  you  are 
taking  this  too  deeply.  It  will  be  some  days 
before  you  are  called  upon  to  make  a  decision. 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  I  hope  you 
caught  no  cold  last  evening." 

Carry's  face  shone  out  again  in  dimples. 

"You  must  have  thought  us  so  queer!  It 
was  too  bad  to  give  you  so  much  trouble." 

"  None,  whatever,  I  assure  you.  My  sense  of 
propriety,"  he  added  demurely,  "  which  might 
have  been  outraged,  had  I  been  called  upon  to 
help  three  young  ladies  out  of  a  schoolroom 
window  at  night,  was  deeply  gratified  at  being 
able  to  assist  them  in  again."  The  door-bell 
rang  loudly,  and  Mr.  Prince  rose.  "  Take  your 
own  time,  and  think  well  before  you  make  your 
decision."  But  Carry's  ear  and  attention  were 
given  to  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  hall.  At 
the  same  moment,  the  door  was  thrown  open, 
and  a  servant  announced,  "Mrs.  Tretherick 
and  Mr.  Robinson." 

The  afternoon  train"  had  just  shrieked  out  its 
usual  indignant  protest  at  stopping  at  Genoa  at 
all,  as  Mr.  Jack  Prince  entered  the  outskirts  of 
the  town,  and  drove  towards  his  hotel.  He  was 


260    •        AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

wearied  and  cynical.  A  drive  of  a  dozen  miles 
through  unpicturesque  outlying  villages,  past 
small  economic  farmhouses,  and  hideous  villas 
that  violated  his  fastidious  taste,  had,  I  fear, 
left  that  gentleman  in  a  captious  state  of  mind. 
He  would  have  even  avoided  his  taciturn  land 
lord  as  he  drove  up  to  the  door ;  but  that  func 
tionary  waylaid  him  on  the  steps.  "  There's  a 
lady  in  the  sittin'-room,  waitin'  for  ye."  Mr. 
Prince  hurried  up  stairs,  and  entered  the  room 
as  Mrs.  Starbottle  flew  towards  him. 

She  had  changed  sadly  in  the  last  ten  years. 
Her  figure  was  wasted  to  half  its  size.  The 
beautiful  curves  of  her  bust  and  shoulders  were 
broken  or  inverted.  The  once  full,  rounded 
arm  was  shrunken  in  its  sleeve ;  and  the  golden 
hoops  that  encircled  her  wan  wrists  almost 
slipped  from  her  hands  as  her  long,  scant 
ringers  closed  convulsively  around  Jack's.  Her 
cheek-bones  were  painted  that  afternoon  with 
the  hectic  of  fever :  somewhere  in  the  hollows 
of  those  cheeks  were  buried  the  dimples  of  long 
ago ;  but  their  graves  were  forgotten.  Her 
lustrous  eyes  were  still  beautiful,  though  the 
orbi  ts  were  deeper  than  before.  Her  mouth  was 
still  sweet,  although  the  lips  parted  more  easily 
over  the  little  teeth,  and  even  in  breathing, 
and  showed  more  of  them  than  she  was  wont 
to  do  before.  The  glory  of  her  blonde  hair 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  261 

was  still  left :  it  was  finer,  more  silken  and 
ethereal,  yet  it  failed  even  in  its  plenitude  to 
cover  the  hollows  of  the  blue-veined  temples. 

"  Clara ! "  said  Jack  reproachfully. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  Jack ! "  she  said,  falling 
into  a  chair,  but  still  clinging  to  his  hand,  — 
"  forgive  me,  dear ;  but  I  could  not  wait  longer. 
I  should  have  died,  Jack, — died  before  another 
night.  Bear  with  me  a  little  longer  (it  will 
not  be  long),  but  let  me  stay.  I  may  not  see 
her,  I  know ;  I  shall  not  speak  to  her :  but  it's 
so  sweet  to  feel  that  I  am  at  last  near  her,  that 
I  breathe  the  same  air  with  my  darling.  I  am 
better  already,  Jack,  I  am  indeed.  And  you 
have  seen  her  to-day?  How  did  she  look? 
What  did  she  say  ?  Tell  me  all,  every  thing, 
Jack.  Was  she  beautiful  ?  They  say  she  is. 
Has  she  grown  ?  Would  you  have  known  her 
again?  Will  she  come,  Jack?  Perhaps  she 
has  been  here  already ;  perhaps,"  she  had  risen 
with  tremulous  excitement,  and  was  glancing  at 
the  door,  —  "perhaps  she  is  here  now.  Why 
don't  you  speak,  Jack  ?  Tell  me  all." 

The  keen  eyes  that  looked  down  into  hers 
were  glistening  with  an  infinite  tenderness  that 
none,  perhaps,  but  she  would  have  deemed 
them  capable  of.  "  Clara,"  he  said  gently  and 
cheerily,  "  try  and  compose  yourself.  You  are 
trembling  now  with  the  fatigue  and  excitement 


262  AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

of  your  journey.  I  have  seen  Carry:  she  is 
well  and  beautiful.  Let  that  suffice  you  now." 

His  gentle  firmness  composed  and  calmed  her 
now,  as  it  had  often  done  before.  Stroking  her 
thin  hand,  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  Did  Carry 
ever  write  to  you  ?  " 

"  Twice,  thanking  me  for  some  presents. 
They  were  only  school-girl  letters,"  she  added, 
nervously  answering  the  interrogation  of  his 
eyes. 

"  Did  she  ever  know  of  your  own  troubles  ? 
of  your  poverty,  of  the  sacrifices  you  made  to 
pay  her  bills,  of  your  pawning  your  clothes 
and  jewels,  of  your  "  — 

"  No,  no  !  "  interrupted  the  woman  quickly : 
"  no  !  How  could  she  ?  I  have  no  enemy  cruel 
enough  to  tell  her  that." 

"But  if  she  —  or  if  Mrs.  Tretherick  —  had 
heard  of  it  ?  If  Carry  thought  you  were  poor, 
and  unable  to  support  her  properly,  it  might 
influence  her  decision.  Young  girls  are  fond  of 
the  position  that  wealth  can  give.  She  may 
have  rich  friends,  maybe  a  lover." 

Mrs.  Starbottle  winced  at  the  last  sentence, 
"  But,"  she  said  eagerly,  grasping  Jack's  hand, 
"  when  you  found  me  sick  and  helpless  at  Sacra 
mento,  when  you  —  God  bless  you  for  it,  Jack ! 
—  offered  to  help  me  to  the  East,  you  said  you 
knew  of  something,  you  had  some  plan,  that 
would  make  me  and  Carry  independent." 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  263 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack  hastily ;  "  but  I  want  you 
to  get  strong  and  well  first.  And,  now  that 
you  are  calmer,  you  shall  listen  to  my  visit  to 
the  school." 

It  was  then  that  Mr.  Jack  Prince  proceeded 
to  describe  the  interview  already  recorded,  with 
a  singular  felicity  and  discretion  that  shames 
my  own  account  of  that  proceeding.  Without 
.suppressing  a  single  fact,  without  omitting  a 
word  or  detail,  he  yet  managed  to  throw  a 
poetic  veil  over  that  prosaic  episode,  to  invest 
the  heroine  with  a  romantic  roseate  atmosphere, 
which,  though  not  perhaps  entirely  imaginary, 
still,  I  fear,  exhibited  that  genius  which  ten 
years  ago  had  made  the  columns  of  "  The 
Fiddletown  Avalanche "  at  once  fascinating 
and  instructive.  It  was  not  until  he  saw  the 
heightening  color,  and  heard  the  quick  breath 
ing,  of  his  eager  listener,  that  he  felt  a  pang  of 
self-reproach.  "  God  help  her  and  forgive  me ! " 
he  muttered  between  his  clinched  teeth  ;  "  but 
how  can  I  tell  her  all  now !  " 

That  night,  when  Mrs.  Starbottle  laid  her 
weary  head  upon  her  pillow,  she  tried  to  picture 
to  herself  Carry  at  the  same  moment  sleeping 
peacefully  in  the  great  schoolhouse  on  the  hill ; 
and  it  was  a  rare  comfort  to  this  yearning, 
foolish  woman  to  know  that  she  was  so  near. 
But  at  this  moment  Carry  was  sitting  on  the 


264  AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

edge  of  her  bed,  half  undressed,  pouting  her 
pretty  lips,  and  twisting  her  long,  leonine  locks 
between  her  fingers,  as  Miss  Kate  Van  Corlear 
—  dramatically  wrapped  in  a  long  white  coun 
terpane,  her  black  eyes  sparkling,  and  her  thor 
ough-bred  nose  thrown  high  in  air, —  stood  over 
her  like  a  wrathful  and  indignant  ghost;  for 
Carry  had  that  evening  imparted  her  woes  and 
her  history  to  Miss  Kate,  and  that  young  lady 
had  "  proved  herself  no  friend  "  by  falling  into 
a  state  of  fiery  indignation  over  Carry's  "  ingrati 
tude,"  and  openly  and  shamelessly  espousing 
the  claims  of  Mrs.  Starbottle.  "Why,  if  the 
half  you  tell  me  is  true,  your  mother  and  those 
Robinsons  are  making  of  you  not  only  a  little 
coward,  but  a  little  snob,  miss.  Respectability, 
forsooth  !  Look  you,  my  family  are  centuries 
before  the  Trethericks ;  but  if  my  family,  had 
ever  treated  me  in  this  way,  and  then  asked  me 
to  turn  my  back  on  my  best  friend,  I'd  whistle 
them  down  the  wind ;  "  and  here  Kate  snapped 
her  fingers,  bent  her  black  brows,  and  glared 
around  the  room  as  if  in  search  of  a  recreant 
Van  Corlear. 

"  You  just  talk  this  way,  because  you  have 
taken  a  fancy  to  that  Mr.  Prince,"  said  Carry. 

In  the  debasing  slang  of  the  period,  that  had 
even  found  its  way  into  the  virgin  cloisters  of 
the  Crammer  Institute,  Miss  Kate,  as  she  after 
wards  expressed  it,  instantly  "  went  for  her." 


AN   EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN.  265 

First,  with  a  shake  of  her  head,  she  threw 
her  long  black  hair  over  one  shoulder,  then, 
dropping  one  end  of  the  counterpane  from  the 
other  like  a  vestal  tunic,  she  stepped  before 
Carry  with  a  purposely-exaggerated  classic  stride. 
"  And  what  if  I  have,  miss !  What  if  I  happen 
to  know  a  gentleman  when  I  see  him !  What 
if  I  happen  to  know,  that  among  a  thousand 
such  traditional,  conventional,  feeble  editions  of 
their  grandfathers  as  Mr.  Harry  Robinson,  you 
cannot  find  one  original,  independent,  individu 
alized  gentleman  like  your  Prince  !  Go  to  bed, 
miss,  and  pray  to  Heaven  that  he  may  be 
your  Prince  indeed.  Ask  to  have  a  contrite 
and  grateful  heart,  and  thank  the  Lord  in  par 
ticular  for  having  sent  you  such  a  friend  as 
Kate  Van  Corlear."  Yet,  after  an  imposing 
dramatic  exit,  she  re-appeared  the  next  moment 
as  a  straight  white  flash,  kissed  Carry  between 
the  brows,  and  was  gone. 

The  next  day  was  a  weary  one  to  Jack  Prince. 
He  was  convinced  in  his  mind  that  Carry 
would  not  come ;  yet  to  keep  this  consciousness 
from  Mrs.  Starbottle,  to  meet  her  simple  hope 
fulness  with  an  equal  degree  of  apparent  faith, 
was  a  hard  and  difficult  task.  He  would  have 
tried  to  divert  her  mind  by  taking  her  on  a 
long  drive;  but  she  was  fearful  that  Carry 
might  come  during  her  absence;  and  her 


266  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

strength,  he  was  obliged  to  admit,  had  failed 
greatly.  As  he  looked  into  her  large  and  awe- 
inspiring  clear  eyes,  a  something  he  tried  to 
keep  from  his  mind  —  to  put  off  day  by  day 
from  contemplation  —  kept  asserting  itself  di 
rectly  to  his  inner  consciousness.  He  began  to 
doubt  the  expediency  and  wisdom  of  his  man 
agement.  He  recalled  every  incident  of  his 
interview  with  Carry,  and  half  believed  that  its 
failure  was  due  to  himself.  Yet  Mrs.  Starbottle 
was  very  patient  and  confident :  her  very  con 
fidence  shook  his  faith  in  his  own  judgment. 
When  her  strength  was  equal  to  the  exertion, 
she  was  propped  up  in  her  chair  by  the  window, 
where  she  couid  see  the  school  and  the  entrance 
to  the  hotel.  In  the  intervals  she  would  elabo 
rate  pleasant  plans  for  the  future,  and  would 
sketch  a  country  home.  She  had  taken  a 
strange  fancy,  as  it  seemed  to  Prince,  to  the 
present  location;  but  it  was  notable  that  the 
future,  always  thus  outlined,  was  one  of  quiet 
and  repose.  She  believed  she  would  get  well 
soon :  in  fact,  she  thought  she  was  now  much 
better  than  she  had  been ;  but  it  might  be  long 
before  she  should  be  quite  strong  again.  She 
would  whisper  on  in  this  way  until  Jack  would 
dash  madly  down  into  the  bar-room,  order 
liquors  that  he  did  not  drink,  light  cigars  that 
he  did  not  smoke,  talk  with  men  that  he  did  not 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN.  267 

listen  to,  and  behave  generally  as  our  stronger 
sex  is  apt  to  do  in  periods  of  delicate  trials  and 
perplexity. 

The  day  closed  with  a  clouded  sky  and  a 
bitter,  searching  wind.  With  the  night  fell .  a 
few  wandering  flakes  of  snow.  She  was  still 
content  and  hopeful ;  and,  as  Jack  wheeled  her 
from  the  window  to  the  fire,  she  explained  to 
him,  how,  that,  as  the  school-term  was  drawing 
near  its  close,  Carry  was  probably  kept  closely 
at  her  lessons  during  the  day,  and  could  only 
leave  the  school  at  night.  So  she  sat  up  the 
greater  part  of  the  evening,  and  combed  her 
silken  hair,  and,  as  far  as  her  strength  would 
allow,  made  an  undress  toilet  to  receive  her 
guest.  "  We  must  not  frighten  the  child,  Jack," 
she  said  apologetically,  and  with  something  of 
her  old  coquetry. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  that,  at  ten 
o'clock,  Jack  received  a  message  from  the  land 
lord,  saying  that  the  doctor  would  like  to  see 
him  for  a  moment  down  stairs.  As  Jack  en 
tered  the  grim,  dimly-lighted  parlor,  he  observed 
the  hooded  figure  of  a  woman  near  the  fire.  He 
was  about  to  withdraw  again,  when  a  voice  that 
he  remembered  very  pleasantly  said,  — 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right !     I'm  the  doctor." 

The  hood  was  thrown  back ;  and  Prince  saw 
the  shining  black  hair,  and  black,  audacious 
eyes,  of  Kate  Van  Corlear. 


268  AN  EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

"  Don't  ask  any  questions.     I'm  the  doctor 
and  there's  my  prescription,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  half-frightened,  half-sobbing  Carry  in  the 
corner  —  "to  be  taken  at  once." 

"  Then  Mrs.  Tretherick  has  given  her  per 
mission  ?  " 

"  Not  much,  if  I  know  the  sentiments  of  that 
lady,"  replied  Kate  saucily. 

"Then  how  did  you  get  away?"  asked 
Prince  gravely. 

"BY  THE  WrtsTDOW." 

When  Mr.  Prince  had  left  Carry  in  the  arms 
of  her  stepmother,  he  returned  to  the  parlor. 

"  Well  ?  "  demanded  Kate. 

"She  will  stay — you  will,  I  hope,  also  —  to 
night." 

"As  I  shall  not  be  eighteen,  and  my  own 
mistress  on  the  20th,  and  as  I  haven't  a  sick 
stepmother,  I  won't." 

"  Then  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure  of  see 
ing  you  safely  through  the  window  again  ?  " 

When  Mr.  Prince  returned  an  hour  later,  he 
found  Carry  sitting  on  a  low  stool  at  Mrs.  Star- 
bottle's  feet.  Her  head  was  in  her  stepmother's 
lap ;  and  she  had  sobbed  herself  to  sleep.  Mrs. 
Starbottle  put  her  finger  to  her  lip.  "I  told 
you  she  would  come.  God  bless  you,  Jack! 
and  good-night." 

The  next  morning  Mrs.   Tretherick,  indig- 


AN   EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN.  269 

nant,  the  Rev.  Asa  Crammer,  principal,  injured, 
and  Mr.  Joel  Robinson,  sen.,  complacently  re 
spectable,  called  upon  Mr.  Prince.  There  was 
a  stormy  meeting,  ending  in  a  demand  for 
Carry.  "We  certainly  cannot  admit  of  this 
interference,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick,  a  fashiona 
bly  dressed,  indistinctive  looking  woman.  "  It  is 
several  days  before  the  expiration  of  our  agree 
ment  ;  and  we  do  not  feel,  under  the  circum 
stances,  justified  in  releasing  Mrs.  Starbottle 
from  its  conditions."  "  Until  the  expiration  of 
the  school-term,  we  must  consider  Miss  Treth 
erick  as  complying  entirely  with  its  rules  and 
discipline,"  imposed  Dr.  Crammer.  "  The 
whole  proceeding  is  calculated  to  injure  the 
prospects,  and  compromise  the  position,  of  Miss 
Tretherick  in  society,"  suggested  Mr.  Robin 
son. 

In  vain  Mr.  Prince  urged  the  failing  condi 
tion  of  Mrs.  Starbottle,  her  absolute  freedom 
from  complicity  with  Carry's  flight,  the  pardon 
able  and  natural  instincts  of  the  girl,  and  his 
own  assurance  that  they  were  willing  to  abide 
by  her  decision.  And  then  with  a  rising  color 
in  his  cheek,  a  dangerous  look  in  his  eye,  but  a 
singular  calmness  in  his  speech,  he  added,  — 

"One  word  more.  It  becomes  my  duty  to 
inform  you  of  a  circumstance  which  would  cer 
tainly  justify  me,  as  an  executor  of  the  late 


270  AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN. 

Mr.  Tretherick,  in  fully  resisting  your  demands. 
A  few  months  after  Mr.  Tretherick's  death, 
through  the  agency  of  a  Chinaman  in  his  em 
ployment,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  made  a 
will,  which  was  subsequently  found  among  his 
papers.  The  insignificant  value  of  his  bequest 
—  mostly  ]  and,  then  quite  valueless  —  prevent 
ed  his  executors  from  carrying  out  his  wishes, 
or  from  even  proving  the  will,  or  making  it 
otherwise  publicly  known,  until  within  the  last 
two  or  three  years,  when  the  property  had 
enormously  increased  in  value.  The  provisions 
of  that  bequest  are  simple,  but  unmistakable. 
The  property  is  divided  between  Carry  and  her 
stepmother,  with  the  explicit  condition  that 
Mrs.  Starbottle  shall  become  her  legal  guardian, 
provide  for  her  education,  and  in  all  details 
stand  to  her  in  loco  parentis" 

"  What  is  the  value  of  this  bequest  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Robinson.  "  I  cannot  tell  exactly,  but  not 
far  from  half  a  million,  I  should  say,"  returned 
Prince.  "  Certainly,  with  this  knowledge,  as  a 
friend  of  Miss  Tretherick,  I  must  say  that  her 
conduct  is  as  judicious  as  it  is  honorable  to 
her,"  responded  Mr.  Robinson.  "I  shall  not 
presume  to  question  the  wishes,  or  throw  any 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  carrying  out  the  inten 
tions,  of  my  dead  husband,"  added  Mrs.  Treth 
erick  ;  and  the  interview  was  closed. 


AN   EPISODE   OP   FIDDLETOWN.  271 

When  its  result  was  made  known  to  Mrs. 
Starbottle,  she  raised  Jack's  hand  to  her  fever 
ish  lips.  "  It  cannot  add  to  my  happiness  now, 
Jack;  but  tell  me,  why  did  you  keep  it  from 
her  ?  "  .  Jack  smiled,  but  did  not  reply. 

Within  the  next  week  the  necessary  logul 
formalities  were  concluded;  and  Carry  was 
restored  to  her  stepmother.  At  Mrs.  Star- 
bottle's  request,  a  small  house  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  town  was  procured;  and  thither  they 
removed  to  wait  the  spring,  and  Mrs.  Starbottle's 
convalescence.  Both  came  tardily  that  year. 

Yet  she  was  happy  and  patient.  She  was  fond 
of  watching  the  budding  of  the  trees  beyond 
her  window,  —  a  novel  sight  to  her  Californian 
experience,  —  and  of  asking  Carry  their  names 
and  seasons.  Even  at  this  time  she  projected 
for  that  summer,  which  seemed  to  her  so  mys 
teriously  withheld,  long  walks  with  Carry 
through  the  leafy  woods,  whose  gray,  misty 
ranks  she  could  see  along  the  hilltop.  She 
even  thought  she  could  write  poetry  about 
them,  and  recalled  the  fact  as  evidence  of  her 
gaming  strength;  and  there  is,  I  believe,  still 
treasured  by  one  of  the  members  of  this  little 
household  a  little  carol  so  joyous,  so  simple,  and 
so  innocent,  that  it  might  have  been  an  echo 
of  the  robin  that  called  to  her  from  the  window, 
as  perhaps  it  was. 


272  AN   EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN. 

And  then,  without  warning,  there  dropped 
from  Heaven  a  day  so  tender,  so  mystically  soft, 
so  dreamily  beautiful,  so  throbbing,  and  alive 
with  the  fluttering  of  invisible  wings,  so  replete 
and  bounteously  overflowing  with  an  awaken 
ing  and  joyous  resurrection  not  taught  by  man 
or  limited  by  creed,  that  they  thought  it  fit 
to  bring  her  out,  and  lay  her  in  that  glorious 
sunshine  that  sprinkled  like  the  droppings  of  a 
bridal  torch  the  happy  lintels  and  doors.  And 
there  she  lay  beatified  and  calm. 

Wearied  by  watching,  Carry  had  fallen 
asleep  by  her  side ;  and  Mrs.  Starbottle's  thin 
fingers  lay  like  a  benediction  on  her  head.  Pres 
ently  she  called  Jack  to  her  side. 

"  Who  was  that,"  she  whispered,  "  who  just 
came  in  ?  " 

"Miss  Van  Corlear,"  said  Jack,  answering 
the  look  in  her  great  hollow  eyes. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"  sit  by  me  a  moment,  dear  Jack :  I've  some 
thing  I  must  say..  If  I  ever  seemed  hard,  or 
cold,  or  coquettish  to  you  in  the  old  days,  it  was 
because  I  loved  you,  Jack,  too  well  to  mar  your 
future  by  linking  it  with  my  own.  I  always 
loved  you,  dear  Jack,  even  when  I  seemed 
least  worthy  of  you.  That  is  gone  now.  B  at  I 
had  a  dream  lately,  Jack,  a  foolish  woman's 
dream, —  that  you  might  find  what  I  lacked  in 


AN  EPISODE  OF   FIDDLETOWN.  273 

her"  and  she  glanced  lovingly  at  the  sleeping 
girl  at  her  side ;  "  that  you  might  love  her  as 
you  have  loved  me.  But  even  that  is  npt  to  be, 
Jack,  is  it  ? "  and  she  glanced  wistfully  in  his 
lace.  Jack  pressed  her  hand,  but  did  not  speak. 
After  a  few  moments'  silence,  she  again  said, 
"  Perhaps  you  are  right  in  your  choice.  She  is 
a  good-hearted  girl,  Jack  —  but  a  little  bold." 

And  with  this  last  flicker  of  foolish,  weak 
humanity  in  her  struggling  spirit,  she  spoke  no 
more.  When  they  came  to  her  a  moment  later, 
a  tiny  bird  that  had  lit  upon  her  breast  flew 
away;  and  the  hand  that  they  lifted  from  Car 
ry's  head  fell  lifeless  at  her  side. 


A  JERSEY  CENTENARIAN. 

I  HAVE  seen  her  at  last.  She  is  a  hundred 
and  seven  years  old,  and  remembers  George 
"Washington  quite  distinctly.  It  is  somewhat 
confusing,  however,  that  she  also  remembers  a 
contemporaneous  Josiah  W.  Perkins  of  Bask 
ing  Ridge,  N.J.,  and,  I  think,  has  the  impres 
sion  that  Perkins  was  the  better  man.  Perkins, 
at  the  close  of  the  last  century,  paid  her  some 
little  attention.  There  are  a  few  things  that  a 
really  noble  woman  of  a  hundred  and  seven 
never  forgets. 

It  was  Perkins,  who  said  to  her  in  1795,  in 
the  streets  of  Philadelphia,  "  Shall  I  show  thee 
Gen.  Washington?"  Then  she  said  careless- 
like  (for  you  know,  child,  at  that  time  it  wasn't 
what  it  is  now  to  see  Gen.  Washington),  she 
said,  "  So  do,  Josiah,  so  do  ! "  Then  he  pointed 
to  a  tall  man  who  got  out  of  a  carriage,  and 
went  into  a  large  house.  He  was  larger  than 
you  be.  He  wore  his  own  hair  —  not  powdered ; 
had  a  flowered  chintz  vest,  with  yellow  breeches 
and  blue  stockings,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat. 

274 


A   JERSEY   CENTENARIAN.  275 

In  summer  he  wore  a  white  straw  hat,  and  at 
his  farm  at  Basking  Ridge  he  always  wore  it. 
At  this  point,  it  became  too  evident  that  she 
was  describing  the  clothes  of  the  all-fascinating 
Perkins :  so  I  gently  but  firmly  led  her  I  ack 
to  Washington.  Then  it  appeared  that  she  did 
not  remember  exactly  what  he  wore.  To  assist 
her,  I  sketched  the  general  historic  dress  of 
that  period.  She  said  she  thought  he  was 
dressed  like  that.  Emboldened  by  my  success, 
I  added  a  hat  of  Charles  II.,  and  pointed  shoes 
of  the  eleventh  century.  She '  indorsed  these 
with  such  cheerful  alacrity,  that  I  dropped  the 
subject. 

The  house  upon  which  I  had  stumbled,  or, 
rather,  to  which  my  horse  —  a  Jersey  hack, 
accustomed  to  historic  research  —  had  brought 
me,  was  low  and  quaint.  Like  most  old  houses, 
it  had  the  appearance  of  being  encroached  upon 
by  the  surrounding  glebe,  as  if  it  were  already 
half  in  the  grave,  with  a  sod  or  two,  in  the 
shape  of  moss  thrown  on  it,  like  ashes  on  ashes, 
and  dust  on  dust.  A  wooden  house,  instead  of 
acquiring  dignity  with  age,  is  apt  to  lose  its 
youth  and  respectability  together.  A  porch, 
with  scant,  sloping  seats,  from  which  even  the 
winter's  snow  must  have  slid  uncomfortably, 
projected  from  a  doorway  that  opened  most  un 
justifiably  into  a  small  sitting-room.  There  was 


276  A  JERSEY   CENTENARIAN. 

no  vestibule,  or  locus  pcenitentice,  for  the  embar 
rassed  or  bashful  visitor:  he  passed  at  once 
from  the  security  of  the  public  road  into 
shameful  privacy.  And  here,  in  the  mellow 
autumnal  sunlight,  that,  streaming  through  the 
maples  and  sumach  on  the  opposite  bank,  flick 
ered  and  danced  upon  the  floor,  she  sat  and 
discoursed  of  George  Washington,  and  thought 
of  Perkins.  She  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
house  and  the  season,  albeit  a  little  in  advance 
of  both ;  her  skin  being  of  a  faded  russet,  and 
her  hands  so  like  dead  November  leaves,  that  I 
fancied  they  even  rustled  when  she  moved 
them. 

For  all  that,  she  was  quite  bright  and  cheery ; 
her  faculties  still  quite  vigorous,  although  per 
forming  irregularly  and  spasmodically.  It  was 
somewhat  discomposing,  I  confess,  to  observe, 
that  at  times  her  lower  jaw  would  drop,  leav 
ing  her  speechless,  until  one  of  the  family 
would  notice  it,  and  raise  it  smartly  into  place 
with  a  slight  snap,  —  an  operation  always  per 
formed  in  such  an  habitual,  perfunctory  man 
ner,  generally  in  passing  to  and  fro  in  their 
household  duties,  that  it  was  very  trying  to 
the  spectator.  It  was  still  more  embarrassing 
to  observe  that  the  dear  old  lady 'had  evidently 
no  knowledge  of  this,  but  believed  she  was  still 
talking,  and  that,  on  resuming  her  actual  vocal 


A   JERSEY   CENTENARIAN.  277 

utterance,  she  was  often  abrupt  and  incoherent, 
beginning  always  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence, 
and  often  in  the  middle  of  a  word.  "  Sometimes," 
said  her  daughter,  a  giddy,  thoughtless  young 
thing  of  eighty-five,  —  "  sometimes  just  moving 
her  head  sort  of  unhitches  her  jaw ;  and,  if  we 
don't  happen  to  see  it,  she'll  go  on  talking  for 
hours  without  ever  making  a  sound."  Although 
I  was  convinced,  after  this,  that  during  my  inter 
view  I  had  lost  several  important  revelations 
regarding  George  Washington  through  these 
peculiar  lapses,  I  could  not  help  reflecting  how 
beneficent  were  these  provisions  of  the  Creator, 

—  how,  if  properly  studied  and  applied,  they 
might  be  fraught  with  happiness  to  mankind, 

—  how  a  slight  jostle  or  jar  at  a  dinner-party 
might   make    the    post-prandial    eloquence  of 
garrulous  senility  satisfactory  to  itself,  yet  harm 
less  to  others,  —  how  a  more  intimate  knowledge 
of  anatomy,  introduced  into  the  domestic  circle, 
might  make  a  home  tolerable  at  least,  if  not 
happy,  —  how  a  long-suffering  husband,  under 
the   pretence  of    a   conjugal  caross,  might  so 
unhook  his  wife's  condyloid  process  as  to  allow 
the  flow  of  expostulation,  criticism,  or  denun 
ciation,  to  go  on  with  gratification  to  her,  and 
perfect  immunity  to  himself. 

But  this  was  not  getting  back  to   George 
Washington    and   the   early  struggles  of  the 


278  A  JERSEY   CENTENARIAN. 

Republic.  So  I  returned  to  the  Commander- 
in-chief,  but  found,  after  one  or  two  leading 
questions,  that  she  was  rather  inclined  to  re 
sent  his  re-appearance  on  the  stage.  Her  rem 
iniscences  here  were  chiefly  social  and  local, 
and  more  or  less  flavored  with  Perkins.  We 
got  back  as  far  as  the  Revolutionary  epoch,  or, 
rather,  her  impressions  of  that  epoch,  when  it 
was  still  fresh  in  the  public  mind.  And  here 
I  came  upon  an  incident,  purely  personal  and 
local,  but,  withal,  so  novel,  weird,  and  uncanny, 
that  for  a  while  I  fear  it  quite  displaced 
George  Washington  in  my  mind,  and  tinged  the 
autumnal  fields  beyond  with  a  red  that  was  not 
of  the  sumach.  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
read  of  it  in  the  books.  I  do  not  know  that  it 
is  entirely  authentic.  It  was  attested  to  me  by 
mother  and  daughter,  as  an  uncontradicted  tra 
dition. 

In  the  little  field  beyond,  where  the  plough  still 
turns  up  musket-balls  and  cartridge-boxes,  took 
place  one  of  those  irregular  skirmishes  between 
the  militiamen  and  Knyphausen's  stragglers, 
that  made  the  retreat  historical.  A  Hessian 
soldier,  wounded  in  both  legs  and  utterly  help 
less,  dragged  himself  to  the  cover  of  a  hazel- 
'copse,  and  lay  there  hidden  for  two  days.  On 
the  third  day,  maddened  by  thirst,  he  managed 
to  creep  to  the  rail-fence  of  an  adjoining  farm- 


A  JERSEY   CENTENARIAN.  279 

house,  but  found  himself  unable  to  mount  it  or 
pass  through.  There  was  no  one  in  the  house 
but  a  little  girl  of  six  or  seven  years.  He  called 
to  her,  and  in  a  faint  voice  asked  for  water. 
She  returned  to  the  house,  as  if  to  comply  with 
his  request,  but,  mounting  a  chair,  took  from 
the  chimney  a  heavily-loaded  Queen  Anne 
musket,  and,  going  to  the  door,  took  deliberate 
aim  at  the  helpless  intruder,  and  fired.  The 
man  fell  back  dead,  without  a  groan.  She  re 
placed  the  musket,  and,  returning  to  the  fence, 
covered  the  body  with  boughs  and  leaves,  until 
it  was  hidden.  Two  or  three  days  after,  she 
related  the  occurrence  in  a  careless,  casual  way, 
and  leading  the  way  to  the  fence,  with  a  piece 
of  bread  and  butter  in  her  guileless  little  fin 
gers,  pointed  out  the  result  of  her  simple,  unso 
phisticated  effort.  The  Hessian  was  decently 
buried,  but  I  could  not  find  out  what  became 
of  the  little  girl.  Nobody  seemed  to  remember. 
I  trust,  that,  in  after-years,  she  was  happily 
married;  that  no  Jersey  Lovelace  attempted 
to  trifle  with  a  heart  whose  impulses  were  so 
prompt,  and  whose  purposes  were  so  sincere. 
They  did  not  seem  to  know  if  she  had  married 
or  not.  Yet  it  does  not  seem  probable  that 
such  simplicity  of  conception,  frankness  of  ex 
pression,  and  deftness  of  execution,  were  lost 
to  posterity,  or  that  they  failed,  in  their  time 


280  A  JEESEY  CENTENARIAN. 

and  season,  to  give  flavor  to  the  domestic  felicity 
of  the  period.  Beyond  this,  the  story  perhaps 
lias  little  value,  except  as  an  offset  to  the  usual 
anecdotes  of  Hessian  atrocity. 

They  had  their  financial  panics  even  in  Jer 
sey,  in  the  old  days.  She  remembered  when 
Dr.  White  married  your  cousin  Mary  —  or  was 
it  Susan?  —  yes,  it  was  Susan.  She  remembers 
that  your  Uncle  Harry  brought  in  an  armful 
of  bank-notes,  —  paper  money,  you  know,  —  and 
threw  them  in  the  corner,  saying  they  were  no 
good  to  anybody.  She  remembered  playing 
with  them,  and  giving  them  to  your  Aunt 
Anna  —  no,  child,  it  was  your  own  mother, 
bless  your  heart !  Some  of  them  was  marked 
as  high  as  a  hundred  dollars.  Everybody  kept 
gold  and  silver  in  a  stocking,  or  in  a  "  chaney  " 
vase,  like  that.  You  never  used  money  to  buy 
any  thing.  When  Josiah  went  to  Springfield 
to  buy  any  thing,  he  took  a  cartload  of  things 
with  him  to  exchange.  That  yaller  picture- 
frame  was  paid  for  in  greenings.  But  then 
people  knew  jest  what  they  had.  They  didn't 
fritter  their  substance  away  in  unchristian 
trifles,  like  your  father,  Eliza  Jane,  who  doesn't 
know  that  there  is  a  God  who  will  smite  him 
hip  and  thigh ;  for  vengeance  is  mine,  and  those 
that  believe  in  me.  But  here,  singularly  enough, 
the  inferior  maxillaries  gave  out,  and  her  jaw 


A  JERSEY   CENTENARIAN.  281 

dropped.  (I  noticed  that  her  giddy  daughter 
of  eighty-five  was  sitting  near  her;  but  I  do 
not  pretend  to  connect  this  fact  with  the 
arrested  flow  of  personal  disclosure.)  How- 
beit,  when  she  recovered  her  speech  again, 
it  appeared  that  she  was  complaining  of  the 
weather. 

The  seasons  had  changed  very  much  since 
your  father  went  to  sea.  The  winters  used  to 
be  terrible  in  those  days.  When  she  went  over 
to  Springfield,  in  June,  she  saw  the  snow  still 
on  Watson's  Ridge.  There  were  whole  days 
when  you  couldn't  git  over  to  William  Henry's, 
their  next  neighbor,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 
It  was  that  drefful  winter  that  the  Spanish 
sailor  was  found.  You  don't  remember  the 
Spanish  sailor,  Eliza  Jane  —  it  was  before  your 
time.  There  was  a  little  personal  skirmishing 
here,  which  I  feared,  at  first,  might  end  in  a 
suspension  of  maxillary  functions,  and  the  loss 
of  the  story ;  but  here  it  is.  Ah,  me  I  it  is  a 
pure  white  winter  idyl :  how  shall  I  sing  it  this 
bright,  gay  autumnal  day  ? 

It  was  a  terrible  night,  that  winter's  night, 
when  she  and  the  century  were  young  together. 
The  sun  was  lost  at  three  o'clock :  the  snowy 
night  came  down  like  a  white  sheet,  that  flapped 
around  the  house,  beat  at  the  windows  with 
its  edges,  and  at  last  wrapped  it  in  a  close 


282  A   JERSEY   CENTENARIAN. 

embrace.  In  the  middle  of  the  night,  they 
thought  they  heard  above  the  wind  a  voice 
crying,  "  Christus,  Christus  I "  in  a  foreign 
tongue.  They  opened  the  door,  —  no  easy  task 
in  the  north  wind  that  pressed  its  strong 
shoulders  against  it,  —  but  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  but  the  drifting  snow.  The  next  morning 
dawned  on  fences  hidden,  and  a  landscape 
changed  and  obliterated  with  drift.  During 
the  day,  they  again  heard  the  cry  of  "  Chris 
tus  ! "  this  time  faint  and  hidden,  like  a  child's 
voice.  They  searched  in  vain  :  the  drifted  snow 
hid  its  secret.  On  the  third  day  they  broke  a 
path  to  the  fence,  and  then  they  heard  the  cry 
distinctly.  Digging  down,  they  found  the  body 
of  a  man,  —  a  Spanish  sailor,  dark  and  bearded, 
with  ear-rings  in  his  ears.  As  they  stood  gaz 
ing  down  at  his  cold  and  pulseless  figure,  the 
cry  of  "  Christus  !  "  again  rose  upon  the  wintry 
air ;  and  they  turned  and  fled  in  superstitious 
terror  to  the  house.  And  then  one  of  the  chil 
dren,  bolder  than  the  rest,  knelt  down,  and 
opened  the  dead  man's  rough  pea-jacket,  and 
found  —  what  think  you?  —  a  little  blue-and- 
green  parrot,  nestling  against  his  breast.  It 
was  the  bird  that  had  echoed  mechanically  the 
last  despairing  cry  of  the  life  that  was  given  to 
save  it.  It  was  the  bird,  that  ever  after,  amid 
outlandish  oaths  and  wilder  sailor-songs,  that  I 


A   JEKSEY   CENTENARIAN.  28o 

fear  often  shocked  the  pure  ears  of  its  gentle 
mistress,  and  brought  scandal  into  the  Jerseys, 
still  retained  that  one  weird  and  mournful  cry. 

The  sun  meanwhile  was  sinking  behind  the 
steadfast  range  beyond,  and  I  could  not  help 
feeling  that  I  must  depart  with  my  wants  un 
satisfied.  I  had  brought  away  no  historic  frag 
ment  :  I  absolutely  knew  little  or  nothing  new 
regarding  George  Washington.  I  had  been 
addressed  variously  by  the  names  of  different 
members  of  the  family  who  were  dead  and  for 
gotten;  I  had  stood  for  an  hour  in  the  past: 
yet  I  had  not  added  to  my  historical  knowledge, 
nor  the  practical  benefit  of  your  readers.  I 
spoke  once  more  of  Washington,  and  she  re 
plied  with  a  reminiscence  of  Perkins. 

Stand  forth,  O  Josiah  W.  Perkins  of  Basking 
Ridge,  N.J.  Thou  wast  of  little  account  in 
thy  life,  I  warrant;  thou  didst  not  even  feel 
the  greatness  of  thy  day  and  time ;  thou  didst 
criticise  thy  superiors ;  thou  wast  small  and 
narrow  in  thy  ways  ;  thy  very  name  and  grave 
are  unknown  and  uncared  for :  but  thou  wast 
once  kind  to  a  woman  who  survived  thee,  and, 
lo !  thy  name  is  again  spoken  of  men,  and  for  a 
moment  lifted  up  above  thy  betters. 


>/ 

Date 

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Mend  by....: 


Stab  by.*. No.  Sect Sew  by 

Score-/- Press Strip  Sect. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


DEC  4     1931 

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fe  CEfiV1* 

^P    41975 

JUL  1JL.J93 

0£( 

APR  25  10i 

WAY  2  9  193 

•» 
3    |    I 

JUL  1  4  193*$ 

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APRiftMl 

MAY231957 

N  2 

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Form  L-9-15m-7,'31 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


